He's Good
by Yanagi-wa
Summary: Everyone knows that Tony plays piano. They don't know how good he is. He agrees to a charity concert. There's also some moving involved.
1. Chapter 1

He's Good

As always, thanks to my two wonderful betas jake and jordre.  
All music mentioned in this story can be found on YouTube at this date. (3-19-14)

Chapter One

Anthony Dominic DiNozzo, Special Agent of NCIS and Navy SEAL eyed the document in his hand with disgust. "Well, shit. This case is going nowhere fast. Tim. See if you can't get a financial for the Petty Officer."

Tim turned to his computer with a sigh. "Probably. But I don't think he's involved."

Gibbs shrugged. "Probably not. But, process of elimination. If his financials are clean, we look somewhere else."

It was unusual for them to hit such a dead end, but the fact was, some cases just didn't get solved, even by them. This one was looking to be such a case. The PO in question looked guilty as hell; things were disappearing on his watch, but he could prove where he'd been almost every time. And his financials were turning out to be what would be expected of a man his age and pay grade.

Tony's computer binged with the sound for a personal email. "Damn. Tim, that house is ... condemned for lack of a better term. No go ... again."

Tim scowled at his phone. "Well, shit."

They'd been searching for a house since their return from that disaster called a workshop; living at GHQ was good, but it was crowded. Everyone was taking it in turn to sleep in the recliner or on the couch, except for Gibbs, but it was wearing on everyone. So far they'd found four places that they agreed on, but each one had fallen through for various reasons. Tony had said that he could get quarters on base at Quantico; Gibbs had smacked him in the head.

Everyone in the bullpen looked up as one of the Personal Contact Specialists from Human Resources entered the area. "Hello. I'm taking volunteers for the Services Auction we're having to benefit the Marine Toys for Tots program. Anyone?"

Tony shrank down into his chair. He hated this sort of thing. When he'd been in the fraternity, they'd called them slave sales; it wasn't PC now, but it was the same deal. Some poor schmuck would offer a service such as a date, or a short day trip somewhere, or some other sort of service; the service was auctioned off, while said idiot stood on a stage. He'd been volunteered by his senior advisor when he was a sophomore. A more miserable day he'd never had, on a date. It hadn't been quite as bad as PT, but nearly. He did not want to spend any time dealing with this; he needed to find a house for Tim and himself. Preferably before Christmas.

Of course this drew the attention of the PCS, who pounced on Tony with a little squeal. "Oh, yes, Agent DiNozzo. I'm sure you'll be able to do something. Perhaps a trip to the opera or something. What should I put you down for?"

Tony eyed her for a moment then said, "Piano concert. Not a date, or anything like that. But you charge forty dollars at the door. I'll give you a play list in five days. Plan on two thirty-minute sets with a fifteen-minute intermission, and not a second more. Take it or leave it."

The PCS wasn't completely stupid and was well aware that that expression really did mean take it or leave it. So, she took it. "I'll have to see when the auditorium is open. We'll need it for a total of two hours?"

Tony thought. "Probably a bit more than that, what with seating and milling to begin and getting everyone out at the end. Better allow three."

She turned to Gibbs, "And Lee-roy what shall I put you down for?"

Gibbs eyed her for a moment then said in a flat, cold tone, "You put me down for anything and I'll shoot you." He got up and headed for the elevator. "Goin' for coffee. Tim? AJ?"

Tim nodded, "Thanks." He eyed the woman for a moment then said, "I'll give one hour of computer maintenance. To be done here, in one of the conference rooms, with escort. You, preferably."

She nodded, scribbled quickly, then looked up to see that everyone else in the vicinity had disappeared like smoke up a flue. She made a face and muttered, "Well, shoot." She scurried off for the Evidence Lockup, hoping to fill her quota there.

.

Ducky eyed Remy with amusement. The SEAL was bitching mightily about having Tim and Tony at GHQ. He wasn't happy that they were sleeping in the living room. His opinion was that they should all take week turns, but neither Tony nor Tim would have it. They would not put someone out of his own bed for that long at a time.

Gibbs was his usual stoic self and said that they'd sleep where they wanted to and everyone else could stuff it. It didn't hurt that they were paying their fair share of utilities and groceries.

Jimmy just listened until Remy ran down, then said, "Really want to go on the mats?"

Remy got a horrified look in his eyes and yelped, "No!" He calmed at Jimmy's snicker. "No, thank you. Not mats. AJ'll kick my ass."

"And why would I do that?" Tony ambled in, smirking at their flinch.

Ducky shook his head. "Master Chief Petty Officer Devereaux seems to think that you should trade beds with him and someone else on a weekly basis, as should Tim. He's been quite vocal about it."

Remy nodded. "You should. You're not getting rest." He turned to scowl at Ducky. "An' I tol' you ... call me Remy." Ducky just smiled serenely and nodded.

Tony hiked his hip on Ducky's desk and picked up his phone. He dialed, waited a moment then said, "Boss, bring the pod and Tim down to Autopsy; pod meeting."

It wasn't long before everyone showed up.

Gibbs looked around and demanded, "Ok, who shit in whose whiskey?"

Tony grinned. "No one that I'm aware of. We do, however, still have the problem of where Tim and I are going to stay. It's getting more and more obvious that we're not going to find anything anytime soon, so we need to make other arrangements."

Gibbs nodded. "It's been ... three? ... months." He held up a hand. "I don't mind, but I'm sure you'd both like a real bed sometime soon. I can fix up something with cots, but that's not really a solution. So. Anyone?" He looked around at the group. He really didn't mind having a house full of people; he felt alive for the first time in years. His last wife had cleaned the house of any useful furniture when she'd left during their divorce; he'd actually had to go to the Salvation Army for a couch and table. It had made the place feel cold and empty, and he hadn't had the heart to try to fix it. Now, Remy, Dean, and Cosmo just bought what they thought was needed, or nagged him into making it. However, he knew that AJ and Tim were not really happy, not having some private space of their own.

Ducky smirked. "Jimmy and I have been talking. My house isn't the biggest in the world, only four bedrooms, but there's room enough for all of us." He looked at Tony, then Tim. "If you'd like to move in with us, you're welcome. I even have a piano. My town house has a dining room, library, and music room. It was built in the early '20's by an upper-middle-class family, so it has all the amenities." He looked hopeful.

Tim frowned for a moment. "Well ... Jimmy?" Everyone was aware that Ducky had put Jimmy's name on the title and fully expected him to have the house when he 'passed on,' as he put it.

Jimmy smiled easily. "I think it's a good idea. You can stay as long as you like. We'll have house meetings and rules, just like GHQ. Mallard Manor can be home for all of us as long as we like. There's no reason to believe we can't get along just as well as Gibbs, Dean, Cosmo, and Remy do."

Ducky nodded his agreement then added, "Very true. After all, I am the senior statesman of the group." His mock glower made Tony laugh while Tim just chuckled.

Jimmy grinned happily and exclaimed, "Great! Garden help." He flushed, "I mean ... well ... I can do it myself but it's nice to have help. Not that ... seriously, shutting up now."

Everyone laughed. Jimmy had become much more secure, but he did still tend to put his foot in his mouth from time to time. No one did more than laugh at him a bit. He didn't mind, as it wasn't cruel, just amused.

"Well, shit. Okay, okay." Jimmy waved a hand. "What do you want to do?"

Tim frowned at Tony, who just shrugged. Gibbs took pity on them and said, "Move; I won't be offended. We were a bit crowded for space as it was. Just don't drive Ducky nuts."

Ducky shook his head. "A couple of lively young men in my boring old house? Don't think they will. If they do, I'll just give them a shot of something or other." He smiled slyly at Tony, whose near terror of needles was well known

Tony shook his head. "OH, no, Ducky, I'll be good. All you have to say is, 'Go to GHQ.' and I'll head out."

Ducky snorted. "As if. Remember Mother? If I can cope with her, I can cope with you; just don't ask to see my knickers."

Tony's jaw dropped; then he remembered Mrs. Mallard's habit of asking to see everyone's underwear. He started laughing, followed by everyone else in the room. When he finally managed to stop snickering he explained to his team, then he said, "Ok, Ducky. I won't, I promise."

Tim wiped his eyes with his fingers then said, "I don't think either of us will have much time to cause trouble just now. AJ's been shanghai'ed into doing a concert for the Marine toy drive. And I'm on sale to give an hour of computer repair. But I'm not going to anyone's house; they can bring it here."

Jimmy chuckled a bit. "Well, you do know that the chances of someone actually using their service are about sixty-forty against. Don't sweat it until it's time. And, if you need a chaperone, I'll do it."

Gibbs snorted, then said, "Last time he offered anything like this, the woman who won it made such an aggressive pass that he actually had to leave the room. He was red as a tomato. I thought she was gonna tackle him."

Tim groaned at the memory. "Seriously. It was awful. It was that woman from the clerical pool that dyes her hair black. And she practically bathed in cheap perfume. Ugh!"

Gibbs nodded. "I know. She nearly knocks me over every time I get near her. If HR wanted to write someone up for inappropriate behavior, I wish they'd get her. She's made an aggressive pass at nearly every male in the building. Married or not. Talk about sexual harassment."

Ducky sighed. "She actually made a pass at me. Not that it's that unusual for a woman to do that, but I made it clear that I wasn't interested. And Mother was incensed. She didn't even ask to see her knickers."

The whole pod howled with laugher at that. Ducky smiled.

After a bit more conversation, they decided that Tony and Tim should move to Ducky's place, Mallard Manor. It wasn't that far from Gibbs' house, which they now referred to as GHQ, so it was still convenient for them all to get together. Ducky happily observed, "And now, I can host my own garden parties."

.

It didn't take long for the whole group to realize that Ducky and Jimmy weren't going to be put out in the least by the move in. It seemed that Ducky had sold a great deal of the antique furniture that had been in the huge colonial house he'd lived in with his mother. He'd kept what he needed for himself and furnished the house to suit. Jimmy had brought his bedroom furniture and not much else. The master suite was Ducky's, of course, and the next largest bedroom was Jimmy's. This left three more bedrooms completely empty of furniture. And the family room behind the kitchen was empty too. Jimmy sat in what Ducky called the front parlor with Ducky most evenings.

This room had an entertainment center that was very up to date. Ducky admitted that he did love his shows. And movies. Jimmy had helped him pick, with a lot of input from Tim.

This left plenty of room for Tim and Tony's things. They decided to move in the bedrooms on Saturday, as well as Tony's entertainment system and their computers. Ducky cheerfully told them that they could put their connections in the library, where he kept his computer and Jimmy's. Tim said that he'd put in a dedicated wi-fi router to eliminate wired connections to their laptops and tablets. This would get them out of the library for privacy's sake. Ducky didn't care, one way or the other, and said so. He also said that gathering in the library was great fun as they could share face-to-face.

Tim nodded. "And we could play chess."

Jimmy agreed, adding, "And backgammon. I like backgammon."

Tony laughed softly. "I'll play it with you. If you'll play pub games with me."

Jimmy immediately said. "Shove ha' penny, shut the box, and skittles, sure. Darts? No fucking way in hell." He remembered the last time he'd seen Tony play darts. Even Gibbs lost to Tony.

Ducky blinked. "Jimmy!"

Gibbs laughed. "No, Ducky, Jimmy's right. AJ cheats. Weird rules. That sort of thing. Cards are good."

Tony put on a hurt look. "Boss! I don't cheat. I just have inventive rules. But cards are good."

Jimmy nodded, "Bridge."

Tim snorted. "AJ, do you have crazy rules for that?"

Tony shook his head. "No. In fact, I've never played Bridge. Poker, Baccarat ... that sort of thing. But no Bridge. We'll have enough people to make a table. Ducky'll just have to teach us."

Ducky looked very pleased with this. He picked up a pad of paper and started making a list. "I believe that my Bridge deck is worn. New cards. And a couple of poker decks. I know I have chips somewhere. Jimmy, you'll have to look them up."

"Sure. I'll find the cards and the chips. There's a couple of board games somewhere too. Oh ... we'll have to rearrange the schedule a bit. I won't have to get up quite so early anymore. Tony and Tim will help with breakfast and that. We'll still be gone early, PT won't do itself."

Ducky nodded. "Oh, I do know that. You'll find that ... what did I do with that?" Ducky rummaged in his desk for a moment then produced a map. "Here we are." He showed them the route he'd marked out. "If you follow this route, you'll run exactly three miles, two rounds will get you back home at six miles. Which you run every other day now. And a round of yoga and tai chi every day is very good for you. I might join you for the tai chi. And the days you don't run you go to the gym." He sighed. "I remember, in my salad days, I was very healthy."

Jimmy patted Ducky on the shoulder. "You're still very healthy. Just not as active. Although you're very active for a man your age. So stop that."

Ducky nodded. "Indeed. Well ... Friday?"

Tony looked at Tim. "We should go over and see which rooms we want. With three available that's one each and still leaves one for guests. I think we should invest in twins for the guest room. Our stuff will more than do for us."

Jimmy added, "You won't believe the size of the rooms. I have a full size bed, dresser, highboy, and an easy chair and side table. And there's still a lot of walking-around room."

Tony grinned happily. "That's one of the things I really need. A place to just get away from everyone. Someplace that I can secure." he shrugged. "Sounds stupid."

Ducky shook his head. "Not at all. One of the reasons I took the maid's rooms at the old house was so that I could get away from Mother. I adored her, but in her later days ... well, she could be a bit difficult."

Tony just muttered, "No shit. Italian gigolo furniture mover. Please."

Ducky sighed. "I am sorry about that. But it did keep her easier to manage."

Jimmy agreed then said, "Well, she had senile dementia. I bet she was a real character in her young days too."

Ducky smiled in reminiscence. "Oh, she was. She and Father loved each other desperately. We traveled all over the world when I was young. Then he settled down and began to make money. Mother was the perfect hostess. When he went, she ... broke. We traveled again, I was in my twenties. Then she decided to settle in Dover. And I went on to ... do very classified things. She made a name for herself as a society dame and held parties. Some of my best work was accomplished under cover of one of her dos." He shook himself. "Well, enough of that. Depressing. So. Come over Friday and check things out. Decide what you need and we'll have a moving party on Saturday."

Tim, who'd been making notes, looked up. "What about your internet?"

Ducky laughed at that. "Do whatever you like about it. I'm sure I can trust you to keep me connected and virus-free."

So, the decisions were made and everyone went back to work.

.

Gibbs slipped down to Autopsy just before noon to invite Ducky out to lunch. He was happy to accept the invitation.

"Oh, thank you, Jethro. I do feel a bit peckish today." Ducky went off to change out of his scrubs and tell Jimmy where he was going.

They walked to a small restaurant nearby and settled in.

The waitress brought menus, took their orders and left water, tea, and coffee in her wake.

Gibbs sipped his coffee, then asked, "You sure about this, Ducky? That bunch can be a handful."

Ducky, who had known this was coming, just smiled. "Yes, Jethro, I'm sure. Jimmy needs the company of people his own age. And I do enjoy having the young ones around. Despite the chaos. If I need a break, I can retire to my rooms. I have television and I'll have Timothy set up my wi-fi so I can have my computer. And, if I really need a break ..." he smirked at Gibbs. "I'll just chase them over to your house."

Gibbs grinned. "I keep that bunch of lugnuts of mine in line. They're good guys, but ... well, we both know how it goes. Bad op, bad memories coming to the fore. And they act up a bit. They're not destructive, as a general rule. And, if they do break something, they're quite willing to fix it or pay to get it fixed or replaced. I don't think you'll have any trouble with Tony or Tim getting rowdy in the house. They'll take it outside."

Ducky grimaced at the tea; it was as bad as usual. "Dreadful." He pushed the cup away. "I don't know why I bother." He returned to the conversation at hand. "Jimmy is a calming influence on all of them. As is Timothy. We'll rub along quite well, I think. And this takes care of the problem of AJ living with his subordinates."

Gibbs nodded, smiling easily at his old friend. "Ok. I just wanted to make sure. Sounds like you've got a plan."

Talk drifted to other things: an old case, an op from years ago that had wound up ridiculous, other things of no consequence.

The food came and the waitress asked what was wrong with the tea. This resulted in Ducky explaining about warming the cup and pot and making sure the water was boiling. The waitress listened with interest then said, "I always like to make sure my customers like what they ordered. I'll bring you another cup, on the house. See if it's better." She trotted off.

When she returned, she had a whole new setup. The pot was hot, as was the cup. Ducky opened the pot and eyed the tea bag. "Looks nice," he nodded to the waitress. "I'll let it steep the proper time. A suggestion: don't put the bag in the pot. Let the customer do that. Some people like their tea disgracefully weak." He checked the pot again, decided that it was steeped enough and poured out. He sniffed the cup. "Smells nice." He took a sip. "It's much, much better. Very drinkable." He took another sip. "Yes, quite nice, in fact."

The waitress smiled and trotted off to check her tables. She'd remember Ducky's instructions, to the delight of tea drinkers, and the ten dollar tip Gibbs left.

They finished eating their food, paid, and left.

The walk back was occupied with a rather spirited discussion of the proper way to handle obstructive relatives. Gibbs was of the opinion that you ignored them until they went away. Ducky observed, "Right to the Director."

Ducky said that you placated them, stuffed them into a conference room, and put a guard on the door. Gibbs allowed that that did seem to work.

They separated at the rear entrance and went back to their stations.

.

Tony, meanwhile, was trying to fix his performance list. He quickly dropped several very good pieces, such as Rhapsody in Blue by Gershwin, Rachmaninov's no. 2, several of Tchaikovsky's pieces and some Beethoven as they required an orchestra, which he couldn't get.

He'd already checked with all the services, but they were booked up solid for months. The local DC Orchestra was also booked. He sighed. That put several of his favorites out of reach. He practiced to recorded orchestral tracks but he wasn't about to insult an audience with that sort of thing. This meant that he could only play things that required just his piano.

"Excuse me."

Tony looked up; it was the PCS again. "What do you need?"

The woman cleared her throat and actually managed to look embarrassed. "The venue says that they won't clear time for less than an hour and a half or so for a concert. That includes the intermission, or intermissions. They say that cleaning up between activities is just not viable otherwise."

Tony nodded. "Ok. I can manage an hour and about fifteen minutes or so, not including two intermissions. I could go longer, but most audiences will be bored out of their skulls at an hour and a half. And, if we're going to go that long, you charge at least forty dollars, and it's full formal. Tux, or Best Dress. I'm wearing Full Dress."

The PCS, who announced that her name was Shirley, returned, "Well, I've set up the announcement." She showed him the broadsheet. It gave the date and time and the ticket price. She was charging $50 for advance reservations and $75 at the door. "I just hope you're worth it." She scowled at him and scurried away before Tony could answer her.

Gibbs said softly, "AJ." then reached over Tony's shoulder to take the paper. "Ok, she's got everything right. Looks good. You want your rank on this?"

Tony thought for a moment then said, "Yeah, put that on."

"How do you want it?" Gibbs picked up a pen and let his hand hover over the paper, ready to make additions or changes.

"I usually go with LtCmdr. Anthony D. DiNozzo, NCIS, (Navy). I don't use 'junior' or 'Dominic.' It just adds to the confusion. I swear, I'm gonna change my name just to get rid of 'junior.'" Tony made a face.

Gibbs was well aware that Tony resented being called Junior and that his, Tony's, father had managed to clean out his accounts more than once. It always took months to get the money back, and the excuse was always, 'My aide did it.' Gibbs wasn't too sure but what that was true.

"Okay. I think you should get programs made up too." Gibbs knew that program folders were handed out at most concerts; he'd attended his fair share.

"I will. As soon as I settle on a list, I'll give it to Shirley. She's dealing with all the paper stuff. She has a ... deal with a printer. NCIS could do it just as easily, but she'll have her boyfriend's shop do it. Bet it costs twice as much and is half as nice." He stretched. "I really don't care one way or the other. I'm more concerned with getting moved."

Tim straightened from his hunch over his keyboard and popped his back. "I've made a list of the things I think we'll need. I emailed it to you. Go over it and see what you think. If there's anything you want that I didn't get, add it."

"Ok. I'll give it a run-through on break." Tony went back to reading a report from someone about something. There were times now that he was reading reports for all sorts of SEAL-related things that were actually so classified that no one else could even see the cover. He locked them in a small safe that now resided between his desk and Tim's.

When he finished the last report and had locked it up securely, Tony turned to the task of deciding on his play list. He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to play, but he was determined to put on a show worth the money. Besides that, he wasn't about to insult his audience by slacking. They were paying good money for a concert and they were going to get their money's worth. That didn't mean he wasn't going to have some fun. He knew both he and Gibbs were high enough on the food chain to get away with his plans. He just had to find out if Gibbs would cooperate.

.

Friday morning dawned cold and clear. Tony grumbled while Tim swore softly. It was crappy weather to be running in and out, but they were determined to get the job done.

The first thing they did was head over to Ducky's with breakfast burritos, coffee, and danishes.

Ducky smiled at the group. "Welcome, welcome. And bearing gifts." He led the way into his kitchen where Jimmy was making morning tea.

Tony put the box of pastries on the counter and got out of Remy's way. Remy added his burden of burritos.

"Got coffee too. I know you and Jimmy both have tea for breakfast." Gibbs put his contribution down and helped himself to a burrito, danish, and coffee.

Tony was already well acquainted with Ducky's big farm-style kitchen. His old house had had a formal kitchen, the kind that was dominated by a Cook. This kitchen was obviously meant for informal dining, as it had a huge slab table surrounded by six ladder-back chairs in one corner. The chairs were surprisingly comfortable.

Remy grabbed a danish and his coffee. "Watch it!" He dodged Dean's grab for his food. "Get your own. You won't like my coffee anyway."

Dean blocked the counter while he searched for his coffee and got a burrito and a handful of napkins. Cosmo took offense at this and gave him a half-hearted shove.

That resulted in Dean bumping Jimmy, who shoved him off with a grumbled, "Take it easy."

They were about to wind up in a shoving match when Ducky said, in a tone of voice that only Gibbs and Jimmy had heard before, "That is quite enough from all of you. Get your food and sit. Now." The scramble to get to the table was more reminiscent of naughty ten-year-olds, than twenty- and thirty-something SEALS. Once they were all seated, Ducky beamed at them. "Excellent." He settled at the head of the table, teacup in hand. "Now. What are we doing?"

Tony produced a tablet from his thigh pocket, plunked it on the table, and said, "We're going to bring all our stuff from storage except my piano. If I keep it, I'll have to find a place for it. If your piano is acceptable ... sorry, but I'm really picky about pianos ... I might sell it."

Ducky couldn't help his smirk, which he hid from everyone except Gibbs, in his teacup. "As soon as you're done eating, we'll go take a look. And, if it's acceptable, I'll ask Jimmy to give it to you ... eventually."

"Ducky! Damn it!" Tony looked indignant.

"Now, now, my dear boy. I have every intention of making you toe the line for many years." Ducky finished his tea. "Eat." Ducky thought while he poured another cup. "There is a solution. We could put your piano in the front parlor. There's room, if we give up one seating arrangement. And that would give us a bit more furniture for the back lounge."

Tony allowed, "It's an idea," then he returned to his food, as did the others. They all sat properly and ate like, as Ducky remarked, humans. When they were done and had cleaned up the kitchen to Tony's demanding standards, Ducky led the way to the music room on the second floor.

Tony walked one step into the room and froze. His hands dropped to his sides as his jaw just dropped. Ducky gently nudged him out of the doorway so everyone else could come in.

Jimmy smiled and said, "I just finished tuning it. Go give it a touch."

Tony blinked, then blinked again. "It's a Bösendorfer. It's ... wonderful."

Ducky just sighed. "It was Mother's. She played wonderfully. Until she started having trouble with her memory." he nudged Tony again. "Go ahead. Play it."

Jimmy explained as Tony approached the piano. "This is a Bösendorfer 290 Imperial. Ninety-seven keys, mahogany veneer; it's nine feet six inches long and five and a half wide. It actually has extra strings. The extra bass strings of the sub-contra octave extend the tonal range and create additional harmonic resonance throughout the whole instrument. It's a full-size concert grand. And it's worth ..." he paused, glancing at Ducky, who nodded his permission, "about one hundred and fifty-six thousand dollars, rounded down."

Ducky just added, "It's old. The serial number shows that it was made around 1930; the first prototype was built in 1909 for Busoni," he glanced at the group, "but you're not interested in that." He looked at Tony. "Ah! He's about to play."

Tony ran a few scales to warm up then started to play. He played Bach's Prelude and Fugue No. 21 in B-flat Major. He ran a scale, then played Scott Joplin's The Cascades. He finally just sat at the keyboard for a moment then turned to Ducky. "If you're sure?"

"After that, I am most assuredly sure. If you wish to keep your Steinway, we'll put it in the front parlor for casual entertainment." Ducky really didn't want Tony to give up his personal instrument.

"Okay, thanks. I'll call the movers after we're done here and set up a delivery time." Tony caressed the keyboard one more time then shut the piano. "I do like to open the top when I practice. That be a problem?"

"Oh, no. Just shut the doors if we're watching television. The room is soundproofed."

Gibbs decided they needed to move on for now and took charge. "Okay, men, we need to get a move on. Abby's coming to make us lunch, so, Ducky, if you'd stay here to let her in?" Ducky just nodded. There was no way he was going to get involved in the actual physical move; he'd just be in their way.

Gibbs smiled at his old friend. "Good. Tim, Tony, you got the list?"

Tim waved a tablet at him. "Right here. I've got it arranged by room. My idea was, we sort at the storage, get it on the truck in room order, and then all we have to do is take it off and set it up. Leaves all the sorting inside, instead of trying to do it on the fly, or leaving something in the yard."

Remy nodded. "Good thinking."

Gibbs checked his watch. "We better get a move on. We're supposed to pick up the truck in thirty minutes. Remy, with me."

Remy joined Gibbs. He was their designated driver, as he had a CDL. Tony gathered up the rest of the group with a glance, They were going to meet Gibbs, Remy, and the truck at the storage. Since they were going in Tony's SUV, he was driving that.

As they headed out, Abby was headed in. She grinned at the group, arms full of bags. "Hey. Shrimp gumbo, French baguettes, dirty rice, and trifle okay?"

Dean sighed. "Will you marry me?" Gibbs bopped him on the shoulder. "Okay, okay. Damn, Jet, mean."

Gibbs just gave him a poke. "Move it."

Dean laughed. "Sorry, Miss Abby; seems Grumpy Gibbs has cancelled our engagement."

Abby just dimpled. "Do you really think I'd marry a squid? Seriously?"

Cosmo grumbled, "Knew you were smarter than that. Dean, move it." He shoved Dean out of the door. "And let the lady in. Jerk. Born in a barn, I swear."

Dean laughed then replied, "Born in a barn, raised in a cave, huntin' and fishin' is all I crave."

Abby shook her head as she trotted down the hall, calling for Ducky.

Gibbs and Remy climbed into Gibbs' old truck, while Tony, Dean, Cosmo, Jimmy, and Tim ambled to Tony's SUV. Gibbs would follow Remy in the U-Haul to the storage.

Suddenly the truck slammed to a stop, reversed and backed up. Remy jumped out and ran to the SUV.

"Cos, you're drivin' the truck. I don't know what I was thinkin'. Sure as I'm ten feet away from AJ, he'll get his dumb ass hurt. Move it." Remy nearly dragged Cosmo out of the SUV.

Cosmo gave Remy a wide-eyed look then realized what was going on. "Okay, okay. Stand down. I'm goin'. I'm goin'." He patted Remy on the shoulder and trotted to Gibbs' truck, got in, and they were off again.

Tony just put the SUV in gear and headed for the storage compound.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The storage was climate-controlled, so the whole building was enclosed, having wide hallways lined with rollup doors of various sizes. The attendant let them in the front door when they buzzed, and followed them up the stairs. He offered to take them up in the freight elevator, but they found when they reached it that it was on the top floor, though not in use.

"I'll have to walk up and see what the hell is going on. That's actually against company rules." The attendant looked pissed, as well he might.

Dean said, "I'll go with. Not sure I like this."

Pete rubbed his arms as if he was cold. "Not sure I like it either. Thanks."

Dean and Pete climbed the last flight of stairs quietly. Pete opened the fire door, then froze; moans came from one of the open unit doors. Dean put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "Stay behind me," he said as he pulled his Sig from the holster concealed beneath his flannel shirt.

"Maybe I should go back down and get someone?" Pete was pretty sure he didn't want to be up here alone, so he wasn't about to suggest that Dean get help.

Dean nodded. "You do that. Fast." He crouched down and listened. He could hear Pete's retreating footsteps, moaning and odd noises from the unit, the air conditioning; nothing else.

He eased into the hall and waited. The moaning stopped and something else started; he didn't have time to figure out what, as the whole pod slipped out the fire door and ranged themselves behind him.

Gibbs took point, with Tony right behind him. At Gibbs' signal Tim eased to the opposite side of the door.

Now!" Gibbs stepped into the room, pistol in hand. Tim crossed the door using Gibbs as a shield, while Tony crossed the other way. This let them move in a straight line instead of having to sidle around the door frame.

The second they entered, a girl began to scream. A boy yelped then stared at them, wide-eyed and naked.

Tony eyed the couple with a disgusted expression on his face while the girl screamed bloody murder. "Shit." He slipped out of the room, calling over his shoulder, "Shut her the fuck up. Get them fucking dressed and out here."

Pete eased up carefully. His brother had come home from Afghanistan with some unfortunate reflexes. He wasn't about to get a black eye because he'd startled someone. "Okay. Excuse me while I deal. Ok?"

Gibbs also gave the couple a disgusted look. "Call the manager."

Pete sighed. "I'm the day manager. I'll call the owner. My dad is going to be so pissed."

Gibbs frowned. "You know that hot rod?"

"My cousin. He's done this before ... I think. He used to work here as a mover, but Dad let him go ... Ummmmh, I think it was four months ago. No explanation. Or none that I heard, anyway. And Dad promoted me from mover to day manager as Uncle Max quit over it." Pete pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed. He waited for a minute then said, "Will someone shut that slut up? I can't hear."

Tim tapped Gibbs on the shoulder. "Maybe we should get out so stupid and his girl can get covered?"

Gibbs blinked, he'd been staring at the wall, thinking. "Yeah. You're right." He stepped out into the hall, followed by Tony, who had turned his back and waited for just this. Gibbs called over his shoulder, "Shut her up and both of you get fucking dressed. Five minutes. If you're not covered, I will damn well cover you myself."

Tony rolled the door down until it was about a foot from the floor. "Boss? What the hell?"

Tim snorted. "Good make-out spot— Not. But ..." he shrugged. "Some guys think with the little head."

Dean, Remy, and Cosmo ambled over. Remy said, "We're gonna go ahead and start. We'll take the elevator down to the unit floor. You need it ... call." And with that, they headed out.

While they'd been sorting themselves, Pete had been on the phone. "I called Dad. He said to call the cops and ... he wants to speak to ... someone." He shoved the phone in Gibbs' direction with a hopeful look.

Gibbs took the phone. "Gibbs." He listened for a moment then said, "I'll be glad to make a report. I'm with NCIS." He listened again then chuckled darkly. "I'll tell them that. Head down to the cop shop. Take your time." He hung up by closing the phone

He passed the closed phone back to Pete. "You call the cops. I'll back you up."

"Um ... should I call 911, or some other number?"

Tony said, "911."

Pete dialed. "Hello?" They could hear the dispatcher speaking to Pete, asking what the emergency was. "Well ... um ... damn it." He shoved the phone in Tony's direction. "I'm not ... No."

Tony took the phone. "My name is Anthony D. DiNozzo. I'm a special agent with NCIS. We have some unauthorized intruders in custody. The young man who was just on the line is the day manager here." He gave the facility's name and address, then listened as the dispatcher gave directions to a police car/team. "We'll be right here. Top floor. I'll send Pete down to run the elevator for the officers. Thank you." He hung up and handed Pete his phone. "Chicken."

Pete nodded. "Oh, yeah. I'm not ... well, how the hell do I tell a lady that we've caught some idiots fucking in one of the units? And where did they get that mattress? If it came out of one of the units, Dad'll have a fit."

Tony eyed the door for a moment. "If all the units are locked, they probably hauled it out of the trash."

"Ugh. That's just nasty." Pete took off clomping down the stairs. "I'll be at the gate to let the cops in."

Gibbs threw the door up and looked the couple over. They'd managed to get dressed, but were still buttoning and zipping.

"Well, aren't you a pretty mess. If you two had used a little common dog fucker you wouldn't be UFO and on your way to a slam. What the hell were you thinking? Or were you?" He turned to the girl. "Fucking get your shirt tucked in. Pull your damn pants up. Tim! Get me some rope." He took the girl by the arm and pulled. "Come here." Tim handed him a length of rope which Gibbs threaded through the belt loops on her pants. He then proceeded to tie it in a knot that wasn't coming undone without some force, or a knife. "There. I bet your Mom is really damn proud of you."

The girl was still crying and didn't bother to object to her treatment. Gibbs wasn't rough with her, just firm. "Stand over there and stop that blubbering." He gave her a gentle push, right into Tim's arms. Tim just patted her shoulder, offered her a kleenex, and kept a hand on her.

Gibbs turned to the boy and went DI on him. "Exactly what the fucking hell do you use for brains? You just want a quick fuck, or is she worth more? If she's a quick fuck, better get tested for STD's. If she's your girlfriend ... well, I'd drop you like a used rubber. That's no damn way to treat a prospective wife. You're less than useless; you're hopeless. You're goin' to jail, asshole. And your girl too. You're both over 18, or look like it at least. So that means this is breaking and entering, conversion of use, and trespassing. AJ."

Tony, who was fiddling with his phone, said, "Checkin' now, Boss." He tapped the screen, then said, "Minimum sentence is ... 5 years, 2 years, and 3 years, respectively. If they go with consecutive instead of congruent, that's a total of ten years." He didn't bother to mention that, as first offenders, they'd probably get hours of community service and a verbal reprimand instead.

This made the girl start to cry again, while the boy turned a shade of white was really wasn't healthy.

Gibbs nodded to Tim. "Tim, get their particulars, check their ID. Let's have our ducks in a damn row for the LEO's. No sense in makin' their day any harder than necessary."

Tim turned to the girl and found out that her name was Pamela Smith, and she was nineteen and a student at a local community college. He put her name and Social Security number into his phone and did a search. "No Wants or Warrants." He dropped her wallet back in her purse and kept it with him.

"Ok. Cough it up." Tim waited while the boy fished in his pants for his ID. Gibbs took the opportunity to yank his pants up to his armpits and tie a set of suspenders. The kid didn't say anything, just grunted a bit when Gibbs pulled his pants up.

Once Gibbs got the suspenders done, Michael Wexler turned his ID over to Tim. "Ok, Mike. You're a dumb shit and in real trouble. I don't know what you were thinking, and I don't care. If I were you, I'd take this opportunity to call a parent." He scribbled in a small note book,adding, "Not that I was ever in this position." He glowered at Mike. "Seriously, what were you thinking?"

Mike decided that baby-faced Tim was a soft target. "What do you think I was thinking? She's pretty and easy. You figure it out."

Tim just sighed. "I think you were seriously thinking with the wrong head. If she's easy, you're taking a chance of getting something nasty. Look it up, jug-head, STD. Ring a bell? A tiny one?" He flipped his notebook closed, then added, "And don't get smart with me, I'll fuck you up."

"You can't hit me." Mark was pretty sure of that.

Tim turned on him savagely. "Oh yeah? Think about this, smart guy. I shouldn't hit you; the consequences of hitting you aren't good. But can't? Yes, I can. And I just might." He glowered until Mark ducked his head and stared at the floor. "Idiot."

Meanwhile, Pete was dealing with the two LEO's. "This way. I'll have to run the elevator; it's got an old-fashioned control. Helps keep the odd snooper out." He led the way to the elevator, which Remy had brought down, and took the officers up.

The lead officer patted him on the shoulder and said, "Stay in the elevator until we either call or come back."

Pete just nodded. He closed the gate behind the officers and sighed; his dad was having kittens.

The two officers approached the group with some caution. "Excuse me?"

Gibbs and Tony turned to speak to the men; Tim kept an eye on Mike and Pamela, not- Pam-thank-you.

They went through the general questions all officers ask: let's see ID, what's the problem, who are you in relation to them, and the situation. Gibbs answered all the questions, with Tony interjecting from time to time. Tim stayed in the background; they didn't need him in the mix, yet.

One of the officers, obviously the junior partner, went back to the elevator and returned with Pete.

Pete had no idea what he was supposed to do, but the cops explained everything to him. All he really had to do was tell them that Mike and Pamela weren't supposed to be there, he had not let them in, and was actually sure they knew they weren't allowed past the office without escort. A thing that Mike knew for sure, as he'd used to work there.

Pete explained all this to the officers and added, "He got fired for exactly this sort of shit, or I'm blind stupid. And his dad quit because he got fired. Bet it was a case of follow-the-leader. So now, I've got a mess to clean up." He glanced into the unit. "Yup. A mess."

The unit contained the mattress, a duvet that had seen much better days, a pile of beer cans and bottles, and the general detritus of an area used for parties by people who obviously didn't give a shit.

The officers took pictures with a pocket camera and finished their notes. The lead officer nodded to Gibbs. "We'll take custody of your prisoners now," he said as he produced a pair of cuffs, which set Pamela off again. Mike just turned green.

It didn't take the police long to cuff the two and head back to the elevator, Pete in tow. They heard one of the officers say, "If the owner is already down at the station, you don't need to come too. We know where to find you if we need you."

Pete's voice drifted up. "The owner is my dad, and I live at home." The elevator hummed to life and descended.

It wasn't long before Pete was back. "Well, I guess I better get started. And the bad part is, I don't get paid extra for this kind of mess."

Tony eyed the mess and offered, "The bottles and cans you can recycle or turn in for the deposit. If there's a keg," he pointed, "and that really looks like one, you turn that in for the deposit. There should be a sticker on the keg. The rest? Scoop, shovel, and wheelbarrow."

Pete eyed the mess again, gauging the work time. "Yeah. And Dad'll just have to deal. I'm not givin' him shit this time. I guess I better get to work. You'll just have to deal with your shit yourselves." He grinned. "I know you're not going to cause me more trouble. 'Bye."

They all trotted back down the stairs, except for Jimmy, who stayed long enough to help Pete wrestle the mattress into the freight elevator, then into the dumpster. He took out his knife and gutted it, saying, "This'll prevent anyone else from getting any ideas." He then produced a bottle of sanitizer from a pocket and shared it with Pete.

.

Remy eyed the storage for a moment then said, "We should just pull everything out and take it to the vestibule . What doesn't go on the truck should probably go to Goodwill, or the dump."

They'd indulged in the military pastime of just hanging until someone came to make them do something. It wasn't like they could really do much until Tim and Tony were around to make decisions. Now they could hear the rest of their group on the steps.

Dean shrugged. "Probably oughta haul all this mess down there. Or at least made a good start."

Cosmo offered, "Well, we're still surveying the topography."

Tony's voice from behind them barked, "Topography, my ass. You're all slackers. Get moving." They all jumped.

Dean snarled, "Damn it, AJ, fuckin' give me a heart attack."

Remy allowed, "Know you're not supposed to have us do personal work for you."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Anyone wants to take off, go. But ... if you want to go that way... PT's always a good thing."

The moaning and groaning was of the obligatory sort; they all knew that Tony would let them slide. They also knew that he'd get his evens, eventually. It was against regs for an officer to order subordinates to do work for him, but you call any of Tony's team "subordinates" and see where that gets you.

So they started hauling boxes and furniture to the elevator. It was at their floor, Pete having shown Jimmy how to work it. He, Pete, wasn't about to argue with this bunch. And he had a mess to clean up, so he trusted them to deal.

It took them half an hour to get everything down to the vestibule and set out so they could look it over. They were in the middle of sorting when the Steinway movers came for the piano.

Tony got Jimmy to take them up to pack the piano for transport while he continued to stick stickers on things. Red meant he didn't want it and it should probably go into the trash, yellow was for Goodwill, and green was a keeper. Tim stuck stickers on his stuff also, not that there was that much due to the fire.

Everything was finally sorted and packed into the truck or dumpster, and they were off. The Steinway movers had agreed to let Ducky sign for the piano, so all they had to do was stop by Goodwill, offload what went there, and then get the rest to the house.

Goodwill was more than glad to get the castoffs, and a couple of their men helped unload. When they arrived at Mallard Manor, Abby happily informed them that the Steinway people had just left. She finished, "And they said that they would call their best tuner and see if Dr. Palmer had time to come tune it for you." She dimpled at Jimmy, who blushed.

"I'll be happy to tune it for you. I have my kit still."

Tony nodded. "Whenever you have time," he grinned. "Abs, what's for lunch?"

"As if you didn't know. Gumbo, dirty rice, garlic baguettes, and trifle. Ducky made the trifle and put it in the fridge. It's all finished, except for the bread; Ducky's putting it in the oven now. Should be hot by the time you get washed up. So shoo." She made shooing motions with both hands, so everyone headed for a bathroom to wash their hands for lunch.

This resulted in a bit of a log jam in the kitchen doorway. Tony locked shoulders with Dean, while Remy, Tim and Cosmo danced around Gibbs, trying to get either out of his way or through the blocked door. Jimmy, wiser than suspected, just went to the kitchen sink.

Gibbs barked, "Stop that!" at the three men, which made them freeze in place.

Remy whined, "Now see what you did. Jet's pissed."

Cosmo grumbled, "Well, if you'd stay out of the way..."

Tim poked Cosmo and hissed, "Cos ... shut up."

Cosmo sideoogled Tim then poked him back. "Won't!"

Remy just whimpered.

By this time Tony and Dean had sorted themselves out and were in the half-bath, washing up. This meant that Remy, Tim, Cosmo, and Gibbs either had to wait or go up to the next floor. The other half-bath in the back room wasn't working yet.

Remy waited with Gibbs, while Tim and Cosmo went upstairs to the master bathroom there.

Gibbs eyed Remy. "How you doin'?"

"Good enough. AJ's ... okay." Remy watched Tony dry his hands.

"How you gonna deal when he moves out?" Gibbs wasn't taking it easy on Remy or Tony.

"Okay. I'm ... feelin' better every day. It's time someone moved somewhere else. Move on ... sorta." Remy shoulder-bumped Tony as he and Dean left to return to the kitchen.

Tony nodded at Gibbs on the way by.

Remy and Gibbs washed next, and by the time they were done, the others were clomping down the stairs like a herd of buffalo.

When they hit the kitchen, Ducky was ready for them. "Very good. Now, each of you has a task to do; the list is here." He taped a sheet of paper to a cabinet door. "Do be careful." He then went into the dining room and settled at the head of the table.

Gibbs cracked up completely, earning himself some disgusted looks.

Abby pointed to a pile of plates and silverware. "There. Dean, Cosmo, you're setting the table."

Dean snatched up the plates while Cosmo got the silverware; they scurried off to set the table under the watchful eyes of Ducky. They even put cloth napkins down.

Tony looked at Abby. "What do ya need?"

Abby handed Tony a bowl of dirty rice. "Take that in, please."

Tony ambled into the dining room with the rice, followed by Remy with the first batch of bread and Gibbs with the huge tureen of gumbo. Tim and Jimmy stayed behind to finish the last of the cleaning and wait for the rest of the bread to finish toasting. Abby stood in the doorway, checking that everything was on the table.

She realized that they'd forgotten something; she squeaked, "Butter." and hurried to get the pre-sliced sticks. Ducky had insisted that she slice the sticks and put them on chilled plates.

Ducky smiled serenely at the group; he was very pleased with all this. "I have picked a nice wine to go with the meal. Anyone a pledger?"

Remy snorted. "Nominal Catholic. No me."

Dean and Cosmo shook their heads. Ducky knew that the rest of the group all drank, so he got up and went to the sideboard. He picked up the bottle of red he'd selected and started pouring everyone a glass. "It's not expensive, but it's very nice."

Tony did the sommelier thing and swirled the wine in the glass, sniffed carefully, then sipped. "Very nice. Merlot. Nice round texture without the common middle-palate gap. Currant ... plum ... a bit of ... tobacco? Perhaps. Very nice wine. Color is a bit pale, but it's young."

Ducky smiled happily. "Glad you approve, my boy. It is young, but I believe it will have legs. I've three cases put up."

Abby had waited until Tony approved the wine, but now she said, "Okay, wine's good. Start passing things before it all goes cold."

Ducky laughed softly. "Of course, my dear. No sense in allowing such good fare to spoil." He served himself some rice, then passed the bowl. He continued to help himself from each dish then passed them on.

When everyone had served themselves and had begun to eat, Gibbs turned to Tim. "You get all the things you need to set up the network thing?"

"Yeah. But I think I'll probably wait until tomorrow to mess with it. By the time we're done, I'm gonna be tired. There's no hurry, so I'll start it rested." He took a bite of the garlic baguette and sighed. "Abby, this is so good."

Abby dimpled. "It's Tony's recipe. I think the parmesan cheese it calls for really does the trick."

Tony grinned. "And I noticed that you used the fresh."

Dean allowed, "That stuff in a can is ok, but fresh is really the way to go."

Abby allowed, "The Kraft cheese is great for thickening sauces. I like it for that and a few other things. And it keeps well."

Dean snorted. "That's not a concern around us. I put it in soup; adds flavor and thickens it."

Cosmo interjected, "Pass the bread."

Remy allowed, "That it do. But you can't make soup worth spit. Way, way too much pepper."

"Not soup without pepper." Dean helped himself to the last of the bread.

Cosmo took exception to that, exclaiming, "Hey! I asked first." He made a snatch across the table, but missed and nearly knocked Gibbs' wine over; only Gibbs' quick reflexes averted a mess.

Dean and Cosmo were warming up for one of their "old married couple" quarrels. Ducky neatly nipped that in the bud. "Gentlemen! If you insist on quarreling like children, please take it outside. And do not return to the table," he admonished as he eyed them sternly. They both subsided, looking sheepish. "Thank you."

Gibbs leaned back in his chair, laughing like a loon. Tony snorted a bit then said, "Guess he told you."

Ducky gave him a fish eye and said, "And that is quite enough out of you, Anthony."

Tim smirked but kept his mouth firmly shut. He wasn't about to have Ducky call him on the carpet first thing. This earned him a look from Gibbs, which he met with a flat, bland expression.

The meal continued with more bread, courtesy of Abby's forethought. Tony and Tim minded their manners and kept an eye on the rest. The pod seemed to be set on creating as much havoc as possible.

It all came to a head when Remy made a boarding-house reach for the dirty rice and wound up falling on the table, landing on the bread tray and a butter plate.

Tony blinked. Everyone else stared between Tony and Remy with horrified expressions.

"Master Chief Petty Officer Remiel Devereaux. Outside! Now!"

Remy scrambled off the table and headed for the door at a fast trot, shedding bits of this and that on the way. He had also managed to put his elbow in his plate. He was followed by a very pissed Tony.

"Remiel Devereaux. I swear. I ... you know fucking well that that sort of thing is ... what the hell were you thinking?" Tony was so mad he was nearly incoherent. This sort of behavior was really going to make Ducky think they were a bunch of jerks. "I know that Granmère Devereaux taught you better. By a long damn shot." He was prepared to tear a strip off Remy, but decided against it, this time. "Okay, done is done. But you'll be eating in the kitchen until Ducky says you can come back to the dining room. Now. Start on the truck. Go."

Remy breathed an obvious sigh of relief and headed for the truck to start bringing in anything he could carry. He stripped off his shirt on the way, tossing it into the laundry room to wash later.

Tony returned to the table, settled in his place and said, "Sorry, Ducky. I have no idea what brought that on. He's ... we're usually much better behaved."

Ducky, who'd been watching everyone, allowed, "Perhaps it's misplaced upset. He is, after all, very worried about you still and the thought of being separated from you is ... unsettling."

"You know, you're probably right." Tony rubbed his face. "I'll have a talk with him in a bit. But he's still banished from the dining room until you say different."

Ducky agreed, saying, "As you wish." He glanced at the other diners and realized that no one was hungry anymore, so he said, "Why don't we clear the table and get started on moving you two in."

So they quickly cleared the table, carried the dishes to the kitchen, and loaded the dishwasher. The leftovers were in the fridge in moments, and they were ready to finish unloading the truck.

Abby shooed the men out, saying she'd finish in the kitchen. She wasn't about to get in the way of moving. She was no lightweight, but most of the furniture was heavy, and she'd only get in the way trying to help.

She checked that everything was clean or put away; then she headed up to see what was going on. Regular thumps and bumps and a bit of swearing let her know that the pod was hard at work.

She laughed a bit at what she saw.

Tim was holding a box full of cables which had gotten loose somehow and looked like nothing more than multi-colored spaghetti. He was grumbling, "I told you to use the cable ties, not tape. All the tape has unwound. It got hot." He poked at the mess in disgust.

Abby patted him on the shoulder. "Get it where it goes. I'll help you untangle it later."

"Thanks, Abs." Tim trotted off with the box.

Abby eyed the mess in what was to be Tony's room with a very jaundiced eye.

Tony was standing in the middle of it, rubbing the back of his neck. He was sure there was enough room for all his furniture in here, but the arrangement he had now didn't please him. None of the doors were blocked, but one window was, and he didn't like it.

Abby sighed. "Men. You're so predictable." She eyed the bed, which was in the middle of the back wall of the room, right under a window. "If you move the bed into that corner, you can put the desk under the window the bed is blocking. Then you put the highboy in there. That leaves room for a chair and side table that the chair can share with the bed. The monitor will serve as a TV, small but adequate. Unless all you have is a laptop; in that case, why do you have a monitor?"

Dean and Cosmo scurried to move things with Tony's help. Tony replied absently, "It's secondary. I hook my laptop up to it when I want to watch a movie from bed." He grunted as they struggled to move the desk with only one person on each side. Abby hurried to help, and they soon had all the furniture moved to the new places.

Tony looked around. "Good. Thanks, Abby. I like it. I'd get rid of the dresser, but I need it. I need the armoire ..." he eyed the closet door with disgust. "You should see ... well, open the closet."

Abby opened the closet door and sighed. Like in many old homes, the closet was ― tiny was polite. It was only about 18 inches deep and no wider than the door. "Well, it'll do to store stuff."

Tim poked his head in the door. "I'm putting shelves in mine for small-item storage. And I have to get an armoire."

Tony nodded. "Books and movies. Good idea."

Ducky, who'd been watching from the hall, said, "I actually put my armoire in front of the closet door. What they were thinking, I'll never know. The closets in Mother's house were much the same."

Gibbs, the history major, explained. "Well, even rich people didn't have that many everyday clothes, and dressy stuff was kept in the maid's room on shelves. I'll build in shelves." He nodded to Ducky, "If that's okay with you."

Ducky nodded. "I think that is a very good idea. You'll build a set for me?"

"Sure thing. I'll go measure up as soon as we're done moving in." He patted his pockets absently, looking for his tape.

They checked to make sure that Tim's furniture was situated to suit him. It was, and much like Tony, he had a desk in his room, along with an easy chair, foot stool, and side table.

Abby checked a couple of boxes, then announced, "While you're starting on the family room, I'll do your towels and stuff. I'd keep my extra sheets in the bottom drawer of the armoire or highboy, if I were you."

Tony nodded. "Just put my sheets on my bed; I'll make it up and put the other set away later. Thanks."

Abby thought to herself that there was no way she was letting them work all day, then have to make their beds. She was pretty sure that they'd both redo them, but she would make the effort anyway.

While Abby was putting the towels in the linen closet in the bathroom, making the beds, and storing sheets and extra blankets in the bottom drawer of Tony's armoire and in a box under Tim's bed, the rest of the pod was struggling.

Since the house was so old, the doors were either amazingly wide or horridly narrow. The door into the built-on room was too narrow to accommodate Tony's huge couch, so they were carrying it around the house to bring it in the much wider patio door—except the garden gate was too narrow for it.

They put the couch down and eyed the gate; then Gibbs shrugged. "I'll pull the pins and take the gate off. Won't take but a second." He frowned for a moment. "Need ..." he didn't even flinch when Dean offered him a handy bar. "Thanks. Perfect." He used the short bar to pull the pins out of the hinges. Dean then helped him set them aside. This allowed them to get the couch into the back yard. They carried it across the patio, in through the wide French doors, and into the large back "family" room.

It took Dean, Cosmo, Remy, and Tony to wrestle the thing in, in halves. Gibbs, Tim, and Jimmy managed the smaller stuff individually. The only other pieces of furniture that took more than one person were the two recliners; they were also heavy.

The next things to move in were the electronics, the TV, Blu-Ray player, and external hard drive packed with movies. There were also a desktop computer and accompanying desk and office chair.

This was where Tim disappeared for the duration. He carried three boxes into the library and started setting up the Wi-Fi hub. This would provide a secure Wi-Fi signal to the whole house, allowing anyone who had the rather difficult password to access Wi-Fi from anywhere the signal would reach. And, since the password was a sixteen-character string of unrelated upper- and lower-case letters, numbers, and symbols, no one was too worried about anyone hacking it.

Tony stuck his head in the door. "Doin' okay?"

Tim looked up from a mass of wires and odd bits. "Yeah. I just finished programming in the password. You'll all have to memorize it. If I find it written down anywhere, I'll change it. We don't need anyone stealing your bandwidth or hacking you. Who knows who it might be? Could be some curious teenager with more skills than sense; or it could be someone ... not so nice."

Tony nodded. "Ducky?"

Tim chuckled, "Man's got a mind like a steel trap. I'll tell him, he'll remember it. Jimmy's the one I'm worried about."

Jimmy made them both jump by asking, "Worried about me ... why?"

"Password." Tony didn't see any sense in wasting breath with more explanation than that.

Jimmy shrugged. "I'll remember it. After all, I can name every bone in the human body, plus all the nerves and muscles. After all that ... what's a sixteen-character string?"

Tony whimpered as he remembered that there are twenty-seven bones in a hand. "Well, shit."

"Don't have to. I'm good." Jimmy snickered and ran for it.

Tony chased after him, yelling, "Damnit, Gremlin, I'll get you."

They skidded around the corner from the main hall to the kitchen. Jimmy bolted for the back family room with Tony on his heels. Realizing that he was about to run Dean over, Jimmy yelled, "Make a hole!" whereupon Dean flattened himself against the wall, sucking in his stomach.

Jimmy made it out into the back yard before Tony caught him in a low tackle. He turned as he fell and retaliated by getting Tony in a headlock. That didn't last long, as Tony eeled in his grasp and began to tickle him. He couldn't help the giggles that erupted from his chest. He squirmed and struggled, gasping, "Asshat. Damnit, you know I'm ticklish."

Tony relented but replied, "Tough; suck it up. Come on. We better get this done."

Gibbs eyed the two men, looked at Ducky, who was trying hard not to laugh, and realized that this move was going to be good for everyone. Ducky needed people around him just as much as he, Gibbs, did.

Ducky, noticing the look, said, "We'll rub on quite well. They'll create chaos and disorder, and I'll bring them to heel."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

It had taken them most of the day to get everything where they wanted it, but they were finally done. The family room was organized, thanks to Tim's ability to be everywhere at once. The TV, VCR, Blu-Ray, and cable were all hooked up and working properly. The Wi-Fi hub was installed in the library, hidden in a convenient nook behind a bookcase. Tony had put the stand-alone stereo system in the music room

The beds were made, Tony had noticed on a quick trip to his room with a misplaced box. He'd yelled, "Tim! Beds are made! Thank you, Abby!" Tim had added his thanks a bit more quietly, mostly because Abby was standing three feet away from him at the time.

Jimmy was happy that things were going to work out. He was sure of that. Ducky had always tolerated his oddities; there was no reason he couldn't deal with Tim and Tony. They were normal, more or less. He grinned at Dean.

Dean blinked for a moment. "What was that for? Not that I mind someone smiling at me, but still."

"I was just thinking. Everything's going to be fine, I think." Jimmy hefted his end of the loveseat. "We putting this at right angles to the TV?"

"Not really. More like forty-five degrees. What I want to know is, why do they call it a loveseat? No one really likes them. They're too wide to sit comfortable. And too damn short to lay down on."

Jimmy thought about that for a moment as they got the loveseat in position. "You know, I really have no idea. Ducky would know. We'll have to ask him."

Dean chuckled. "I love that ol' guy. He's a font of totally useless but fascinating information. And dirty jokes."

Jimmy flushed a bit, but snickered. "Has he told you the one about the bishop and the actress?"

"Which one?" Dean shoved the end table into place, looked the arrangement over, then said, "Well, that takes care of that. What's next?"

Jimmy looked around. "I'm not sure. We should turn on the TV, VCR ... on that note, why do we have a VCR? Anyway, turn everything on and make sure it works."

Tony cruised in just then and offered. "Don't need the VCR. Every movie I own is on the hard drive now. I think we ought to put it and the DVDs, tapes and stuff in the basement. It's nice; dry and cool. I've got some other stuff that I'm going to put down there for safekeeping."

He went to disconnect the DVD player and the VCR; the new Blu-ray player would play both Blu-ray and DVD disks. That cut down on the clutter quite a bit and made room for the PS4, as well as the X-box and the Wii. Gibbs had remarked that he saw no reason for having all three, but had been deluged with the names of games that were, evidently, necessary.

Tony put the units in place, saying, "That's great. I didn't like the idea of having them in a cupboard and constantly changing them out; all that plugging and unplugging isn't good for the connections." He looked the set-up over and sighed, "But doing all that hooking up is going to be a bitch." He started plugging things in.

Dean took one look at the mess of wires and cables and said, "I'll go get Cosmo. He's pretty good with electronics."

Tony eyed a connection for a moment. "I can do it; I just hate it. I rather build a claymore from C-4 and a tin can."

Dean gave a quiet whimper and scurried to find Cosmo. The last time Tony had made a comment like that the explosion had been epic. And messy.

Cosmo sauntered in a few minutes later and just poked Tony until he moved, saying, "AJ, just no. Damn it, you'll have this FUBAR in no time."

"Won't." Tony obediently moved. "I could do it."

Cosmo gave him a look of utter contempt. "Sure you can. Then you'll be so pissed off that you'll have all of us on the mats just to cool your jets. Jerk."

"Idiot." Tony flopped onto the couch and sighed. "Damn. I hate moving."

"And you're in the Navy." Gibbs settled in a recliner.

"Yes. Yes, I am. See the world ... all that." Tony scooted over to give Abby room to sprawl.

"Yeah, through a porthole." Abby snickered. "Agent Afloat."

"Oh, no, just hell no. I was in ..." he nudged Remy with a toe. "Where the hell were we?"

Remy thought for a moment then allowed. "I think we were just deployed. I don't remember any good missions though. You did get captured. You're never getting out of my sight while we're deployed again. I'm too old for that sort of shit."

Dean sighed. "That was ... that ... Captain screwed the pooch big time. Change the subject. It's too nice a day."

They did exactly that, Jimmy declaring that he was looking forward to some Horse. They all agreed that the basketball game was something to look forward to.

Tony realized that they were all just sitting around the family room; Ducky in an easy chair, Gibbs in another. Dean, Remy and Cosmo sprawled on the floor; he was on the couch with Abby, and Tim was on the loveseat with his feet on a pouf. Jimmy shared the loveseat and pouf with Tim. Tony frowned a bit; they needed enough seating for everyone to have a chair or share a couch. He'd need to take care of that.

Abby nudged Tony. "Turn on the TV; it's news time." One thing they all liked was watching the news together. Rude remarks flew at some of the stupid things personalities did. Politicos got even shorter shrift.

After the news was over, Abby offered to make supper, but Ducky patted her shoulder. "No, thank you, my dear. We'll manage quite well. You have a date, do you not?"

Abby squeaked, looked at her watch, then scrambled to get out the door so she wouldn't be late. She was a bit of a featherhead, but she considered it extremely rude to be late for a date. She headed out; they soon heard the rumble of her hotrod tooling slowly down the street.

Gibbs announced that he too was leaving, he was looking forward to a night in the basement with his carving. Cosmo, Dean, and Remy left because they had come with Gibbs. But more importantly, Remy needed the moral support of going with the group.

Gibbs had agreed to leave his truck for Tony to use on some private, super-secret something, so they were taking his SUV back to GHQ.

.

Ducky smiled into the dim light of the hall. The "boys" had settled in nicely. Jimmy had admitted that he felt better with them there. Ducky had to admit that the old house was full of odd noises, creaks and groans and pops. It was a bit spooky.

Now, however, there were four people in the house, which filled it with the sounds of life. Tim had the odd habit of making a clicking sound with his tongue, while Tony hummed; Jimmy had a rather heavy tread for a man his size, while he, Ducky, talked in his sleep.

Everyone seemed happy with their accommodations, but Ducky did wonder about three lively men sharing a bathroom. He shrugged to himself; it would work out, somehow.

Tim tapped on Tony's door. Tony called, "Enter."

Tim wandered in, flopped down in the easy chair and said, "Bathroom."

Ton nodded. "Need Jimmy."

Neither man was surprised when Jimmy tapped at the door. He stuck his head in and exclaimed, "Good, you're both here."

Tony moved his feet so Jimmy could sit on the end of the bed. He offered, "First in the head should be you."

Jimmy thought. "No, I should go last. I take longest ... I think."

Tim shrugged. "I like a long shower, but I can shave in my room; I use electric. AJ?"

Tony allowed that he took fifteen minutes tops. And he also used an electric shaver, so he could shave in his room too.

Jimmy rubbed his chin. "I use an old-fashioned double-edge safety razor. I get shadow like crazy if I don't. And the three S's do take me about thirty minutes. So, I should go last."

They agreed to try that and Tony added, "If Tim and I go first and second, that gives us time to start breakfast. We'll have to agree on something standard, and full English on alternate Sundays."

Ducky, who'd been shamelessly eaves-dropping, walked in, shoo'ed Tim out of the chair and offered, "We need a house meeting to develop house rules and find out who likes what, who's allergic to what, and who can't stand ... steak and kidney pie. That sort of thing."

Tim obediently got up then leaned against the door frame. "I think tomorrow afternoon would be good. It's Sunday and we're not on call, so we should have most of the day to deal with whatever."

Ducky nodded. "Well, I'm very tired." He glanced at his watch, which said 22:30. "Oh, my. I didn't realize that it was that late. Anyone hungry?"

Tony shook his head. They'd snacked while they'd finished fine-tuning the furniture arrangements in the family room. They'd also had to move the Steinway to the front parlor, as the truck had been short on manpower. The driver admitted that he'd thought movers were going to meet him there.

Jimmy got up. "I think our nightly tea is enough for me. Tim? AJ?"

Tony and Tim got up and followed Ducky down to the kitchen. Jimmy preceded them and started making tea. "I've got some cookies, and I can make bread-and-butter sandwiches."

Tony agreed to cookies, as did Tim. Ducky smiled, saying, "A bit of bread and butter would go down nicely, I think."

Tony went to help Jimmy by making the bread and butter. He cut the crusts off and cut three sandwiches into triangles, making four out of one. "There. Think that's going to be enough?"

Jimmy nodded. "I'm sure. He only eats about a half and probably a cookie. Put the cookies on the same plate and put out the oval cocktail plates. The ones with the cup wells. Ducky really likes those."

Tony got the plates and cups while Jimmy put the teapot, sugar bowl, and milk jug on the tray.

"Ready?" Jimmy nodded to Tony, who just nodded back. They carried their burdens to the table and settled in for tea.

Ducky took a sip then asked, "Not Earl Grey this evening?"

Jimmy shook his head. "I thought we ought to introduce that a bit slowly. It's not to everyone's taste. And this is Black and Green. The green tea is very good for you."

Ducky nodded. "Very well. I do believe I'll have another bread and butter." Tim pushed the plate his way. "Thank you, Timothy."

They drank and nibbled in companionable silence, then headed off to bed.

.

Gibbs was amused as Dean and Cosmo kept touching Remy, nearly petting him. Remy was in an obvious sulk. Gibbs hoped he got out of it soon. He tended to drink up all the coffee when he was in a bad mood. Gibbs didn't blame him much, except when Remy forgot to make a new pot.

They were about halfway home when Remy said, "Okay, okay. Lay off, will ya? I'm fine. I know where he is and who he's with. And he promised not to head off into the stratosphere without telling me."

Dean chuckled darkly. "Fine. But don't blame me if you have a freakout."

Cosmo snorted. "Remy won't. He'll just go sleep under the boat. And that reminds me. How the hell do you get them out?"

Gibbs sighed. He'd never told anyone this. "Usually don't. I usually chop them up and burn them." the other men made horrified sounds. "Well, the first one wasn't fit to float. Then the second one just ... named it after the wife of the time. The third one is the one I'm working on now. We'll figure it out when the time comes." He pulled into the drive and waited for the garage door to open.

They headed inside and took care of their business before heading off to bed.

.

Gibbs woke up to something. He listened carefully; he didn't hear anything unusual, but his gut was churning. He tossed the covers aside and got up. After a moment he pulled the blanket off his bed and folded it carefully. He was pretty sure he knew where Remy was, as he wasn't in his bed. He went down to the basement, easing down the stairs so as not to startle Remy.

"Remy?" Gibbs kept his voice soft.

"Oui?" Remy didn't bother to come out; he just waited.

Gibbs sat down on the floor and offered the blanket. "Blanket."

"T'anks." Remy reached out and took it. "I'm ok. Really."

Gibbs snorted at that. Remy had slept in the same bed with Tony for the first week after they'd found him. Then he'd slept near him. Now he was in a different house altogether. "Sure. Join you?"

"Yeah."

Gibbs eased under the boat with Remy. He found that Remy had made a nest of blankets and pillows. It was very comfortable and big enough for both of them. He settled next to Remy. "Nice nest."

"T'ank ya." Remy eased around to make more room for Gibbs. "Cover?"

"Please." Gibbs found that sleeping on the concrete floor left him cold and stiff, but the addition of a couple of Goodwill quilts and a pillow fixed that. He also liked being covered. This wasn't Afghanistan, so covers were a good idea, especially in the basement.

He settled in, back-to-back with Remy, and was sleeping in seconds. Remy pulled the blanket over them both and joined him, comforted by the body at his back.

Neither one of them noticed it when Dean and Cosmo checked on them.

.

The next few days were filled with that busy-ness that is life. No one accomplished much of anything truly important, until Shirley, the Human Resources Personal Contact Specialist, showed up.

Tony was pursuing an idea on the case they were working on when she popped in and demanded, "Mr. DiNozzo, have you figured out your program yet? I need the listing so I can have the program folders printed up. And I have to get the handouts and posters done soon too."

Tony frowned at her, then managed to reply, without barking, "No, not yet. I do have two whole jobs to do, as well as a personal life. You shouldn't start advertising too soon anyway. No more than six weeks beforehand. And do not go with some cheap, tacky program design. If you don't have a nice one, I'll get one done myself." His phone began to ring. "Anything else?"

Shirley shook her head. "No, I'll just go check on something. 'Bye." She hurried off. She'd never really realized how threatening DiNozzo could be; that frown was something else.

Tony rubbed his face in irritation; the idea he'd had was completely gone now. He knew he needed to work on his concert, but coming up with a program without an orchestra was frustrating him. He decided to settle down and get it done instead of sulking over it. Maybe Ducky would have an idea or two. Or Jimmy.

"AJ?" Gibbs had seen the confusion on Tony's face.

"I was getting an idea but that ... woman from HR chased it right out of my head. And reminded me that I have to come up with a fucking program. And soon. I need to start practicing." Tony frowned. "I wish I had a sheet-music tablet. I think I'll look around for one. I've got some sheet music, but I actually know more pieces than I have music for. I need to make sure that mistakes haven't crept in." He visibly turned his thoughts back to the case, muttering dire threats against the next person who broke his chain of thought.

Gibbs eyed Tim for a moment; then, when Tim looked up, he jerked his head. "Office."

Tim just got up and ambled to the elevator. Gibbs stopped it between floors and said, "Sheet music thing?"

"Tablet. Orchestras use them now instead of sheet music because it's easier to turn pages, and it'll hold however many pages you have memory for. A tablet with four gig will hold ... I'm not sure how much, but everything Tony knows, I'm sure." He thought for a moment. "I'll see what I can find tonight. I think there's a way to store more in the Cloud."

Gibbs hit the switch to turn the elevator back on. "I'll pay for it. How much?"

Tim chuckled. "You think you're payin' for this all by yourself? Think again. I'll let you know when I find out myself. The guys are all going to want to get in on this."

Tim returned to his desk and started researching. Gibbs kept Tony away by handing him an interrogation to deal with.

.

Tony was in a bad mood by the time he got to Interrogation. He knew Tim and Jet were up to something. His bump of curiosity was itching and he needed to scratch it.

Now, instead of satisfying his curiosity, he had to interrogate some smart ass about some missing arms. They knew the man was not responsible, but he did know something; he just wasn't telling, and he was a snarking jerk on top of it. He actually bragged about going through SERE.

Tony had his jacket and knew he'd crapped out after two days. And the jerk looked familiar.

He stood in the observation room and watched their subject for several minutes. He knew he knew the man from somewhere, but he couldn't recall where. And the man was fidgeting in a way that meant he'd failed SERE, just as his jacket said. The Petty Officer was the lowest pay grade in that rank, an E-4. He was an aide to the captain of a ship and was turning his head while things went on that shouldn't.

Tony frowned at the one-way glass. He turned to the phone and dialed. When Remy answered he said, "Come down to Interview Three for a sec, will you?"

Remy just hung up and headed out.

Two minutes later he was tapping on the door to Observation. Tony opened it, and Remy slipped into the darkened room. "Okay. What?"

"Know him? Looks damn familiar, but I can't place him."

Remy studied the PO for a moment, then said, "I 'memeber him. Petty Officer Frank Rankin. The one ... couple a' years ago ... cried like a little baby and shit himself."

Tony eyed the man as he searched for the memories. "Oh! Yeah, I remember him now. Actually did shit himself. Man. Okay. Got him on the fuckin' ropes now, and he doesn't even know it."

Remy shook his head sadly. "Man. All you did was yell a bit. Big girl."

"I did fist the table." Tony offered.

Remy waved a hand, "Pffft. Not like you actually laid a damn hand on 'im."

Tony shook his head in disgust. "Then he threw a hissy fit because he got washed out. Like the service would let a fuckin' pansy-ass like him into a sensitive position."

"Well, so ... what's up wit' 'im now?" Remy picked up the report but waited for Tony's nod before opening it. He read, snorted, and said, "Need me to back you up?"

"With that sorry weak piece of shit? Seriously?" Tony thumped Remy gently on the shoulder.

"Asshat."

"Bitch."

Tony took a deep breath and walked into the interrogation room like he owned it and everything in it. Which, in a way, he did. "Well? Talk now and we can avoid all sorts of unpleasantness."

PO Rankin took one look at Tony and burst into tears. Tony heard faint laughter from the other side of the one-way glass.

Tony eyed him like he was gum on a shoe. "So? Talk! Now! What, exactly, was being smuggled and by who? We know you're involved, so talk now. Or I could persuade you a bit." Tony banged his hand on the table making Rankin jump.

The PO sniffled and sniveled, then said, "I don't know what exactly, just arms of some sort. All I really know is that Bass and Langley paid me good to turn my head. They brought a footlocker aboard, stashed it in a hold."

Tony scowled at his note pad. "Which one?"

Rankin opened his mouth, closed it as he reconsidered his next remark, then said, "Do you have any idea how much cargo space is on a San Antonio class LPD?"

"Actually don't give a damn. Answer the question." Tony wrote 'Idiot child' on his note pad.

"I don't know. They'd bring it aboard while I visited the head, got coffee, something or other. Or distracted the loading officer while they sneaked it aboard. They'd just disappear with it. How they got it off was anybody's guess. I really think they just tossed it overboard shortly after we docked." He sniffled again and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Tony rolled his eyes, muttering, "Jesus, you're such a hot mess." He made more notes. "You do know that you're in deep shit, right?" Rankin nodded. "And you're going away for a stretch, no matter what." Rankin sobbed and nodded again. "So, where could we find your two friends at this time?"

"Don't know. Never did hang with them; they're both beneath my pay grade. We didn't socialize. I'd meet them once, at a bar, never the same one, and they'd pay me in cash."

"And the Loadmaster never noticed?" Tony wrote, 'Loadmaster?'

"He's so busy that one more box isn't even on the radar. They'd wait until he was distracted by one of the loading officers, then just walk it in. If they were having trouble, I'd ... do something." He realized that he was talking way more than he should. He got a stubborn expression on his face and clammed up, demanding a lawyer.

Tony just eyeballed him in disgust for a moment then said, "I'm done with you. You've given me all I need. And ..." he glowered, "Do not stubborn up on me. I've got better things to do than prime your pump again. Like planning a damn concert." He folded his notes, glowered, then left.

His report only took five minutes to type up. He then told Gibbs that they needed to bring Bass and Langley in and sweat them good.

Gibbs had finally learned the art of delegation, mostly due to Tony nagging him like a Dutch aunt. He sent Dorneget and McGee to pick up their men.

Gibbs hitched one hip on Tony's desk and said, "Heard you went through SERE with that jackass."

"Not exactly." Tony mumbled absently as he read something on his monitor. "He washed out second or third day. Big girl."

"Oh, then why ... at least I heard he started to cry." Gibbs frowned at Tony. "AJ?"

"Shit. Sorry, Jet. Your point?" Tony turned his full attention to Gibbs.

"If you were in the same SERE class, why would the sight of you make him cry?"

Tony grinned, "We weren't in the same class. I was his trainer. Man's a huge marshmallow. Sad Sack."

Gibbs blinked, grinned, then started to laugh. He laughed so hard that Vance came out of his office to watch.

Tony gave him a look of utter disgusted contempt. "Jerk."

" 'S funny. He took one look at you and started to cry. Please. Have to admit that it's hysterical." Gibbs wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands and returned to his desk to finish paper work. From time to time he looked up, snickered, then returned to his work. These snicker-fits were usually caused by periodic bursts of laughter from other parts of the floor.

Tony finished his write up, emailed the mess over to Tim to deal with, and went back to trying to figure out what to play. He was beginning to run out of time; he had to start practicing soon.

He was pissed when he was interrupted again by Dorneget. The TDA informed him that Gibbs wanted him in Interrogation again.

Tony tapped on the observation room door then went in. "Boss?"

Gibbs jerked his head at the observation window. "Recognize either of them?"

Tony looked. "No. Sorry. Numbnuts say anything useful?"

Gibbs snorted, "Lawyered up. Lawyer shut us down, but he said enough to bring charges. He'll get a court-martial and some hard time. But I want the ringleader; which none of these ASVAB- waver idiots is."

Tony sighed. "I think ... let me get into my blacks." Tony had come to work today in chinos and a Polo shirt. He tended to dress for the day, rather than wear a suit. He'd quit that nonsense the second he'd 'outed' himself as a SEAL. Now he tended to wear office casual or blacks.

Gibbs grumbled, "I swear, I'm losing my touch. This bunch just won't budge."

Tony shook his head. "Not losing your touch, just ... this bunch is box-o'-rocks stupid. Makes 'em hard-headed. Gimme a sec." He left to put on his SEAL-black CUU's and boots.

He was joined by Remy and Dean. Cosmo was down at Yorktown, doing something top-secret and classified. Or so he said. It really didn't make any difference, as none of the other three SEALs were officially attached to NCIS; they just hung around for lack of anything better to do. They went on missions together, or they didn't go. Duties here in the States were a different matter.

While Tony changed, Gibbs looked the final inventory over. The men seemed to have been smuggling small arms, pistols and such, onto the ship, then off again in Europe, Rota in particular. From there the arms were just disappearing into Europe; tracing them was going to be a nightmare. Gibbs was glad to leave that up to the Spanish authorities.

He decided to let Tony work on Bass while he worked on Langley. He was glad that the Loadmaster wasn't incriminated; the man had been livid and had instigated protocols that would preclude this sort of thing in the future. Their primary objective now was to find out where the arms came from and exactly who was behind all this.

It took Gibbs an hour to get Langley to talk. Bass took one look at Tony and started singing like the proverbial canary. The up-shot of the whole thing was simple: the arms were stolen from the Army, smuggled aboard by Bass and Langley, dropped overboard with a yelper just before landfall, and picked up by their cohorts in Rota. From Rota they went to Turkey, then Iraq. They only knew that much; they were paid by electronic transfer into accounts with phony names. They never saw their contact.

Tony slammed his hand into the wall. "Dead fucking end. Damnit!"

Leon Vance wasn't pleased either. "Exactly. Damnit. We'll have to turn this over to the FBI. Or the CIA. Not happy. But we've got three positive arrests. Maybe the interrogators we're turning them over to can get something."

Tony nodded. "Clark and Jackson are both good. They nearly turned me inside out. Kept me sane later." He shrugged. "I'm hungry."

Gibbs glared Vance into silence before he said something he shouldn't. "Ok. What do you want?"

Tony thought then said, "Gyros. There's a good place about half a mile from here. Wanna walk?"

"Fine by me. Tim? Jimmy? Dean? Remy?" Gibbs thought Tony needed his friends around him right now.

"And Ducky. Abby?" Tony didn't want to leave anyone out.

"Yeah. I'll make some calls. Let's head out." Gibbs had learned how to sent a text, wonder of wonders. He'd found out that, if he sent a text, he didn't have to actually talk when he didn't feel like it, and no one could say that they didn't understand what was wanted. So he sent a batch text.

As they left, they collected people. Dean and Remy joined them at the end of the interrogation area, in front of the elevator. They picked up Ducky and Jimmy when the elevator doors opened at Autopsy. Abby joined them next floor up, and Tim was waiting for them in the foyer.

They walked out in a group and headed for the restaurant. They laughed and chattered about nothing much. Remy scooped Ducky up in a fireman's carry when the older gentleman claimed that he couldn't carry him, Ducky, more than a few feet. Remy carried him nearly a block before putting him back down.

Tony said, "Well, Duckman, I guess he showed you."

"Indeed he did." Ducky chuckled softly. "Indeed he did."

They were soon at the restaurant where Ducky proved to be fluent in Greek. This got them the best table in the place, right by the kitchen door. Most people wouldn't think this was best, but it actually was, as they could smell the food being cooked and listen in on the fun in the kitchen.

Their server came to the table and smiled at Ducky, who was telling a story about his adventures in the Greek isles, in the early '80's. He looked up and said, "Oh, here's the server. We should probably order."

The server offered, "We have a family-style platter that's very popular with larger groups. It includes Gyros meat, onion slices, tomato slices, tzatziki sauce, and a separate platter of fries. The pita is warm in a basket. The service also includes all-you-can-eat Greek salad and a serving of baklava. Drink of choice is extra."

Tony took a quick visual poll; everyone seemed to want the family-style, so he ordered that. The server eyed the group, then asked, "For how many, sir? We have family-style for six, eight, ten, or twelve. And drinks."

Tony counted; including Abby and Ducky made eight, so he said, "For twelve, please." At the server's obvious head count he grinned and added, "I eat enough for two, as does Remy."

Gibbs did a mental inventory sort of thing and interjected, "Dean, Jimmy, and Tim eat enough for two; so do I. You and Remy eat enough for three or more. Ducky and Abby are about average ... I'd say we need to order for twenty-four and hope for leftovers."

Remy snorted. "Leftovers? Seriously?"

Tim poked him in the ribs, reaching across Abby to do so. "Shut it, Cajun. You know there won't be."

The server jotted something on his tablet, then offered, "Why not start out with a service for twelve and an option for another, if it's needed."

Gibbs looked at Tony. Tony nodded. "That'll work. But I bet we eat every bit of it. Pitcher of ice tea and one of Coke."

The server went away to get the drinks and drop off their order. The kitchen laughed a bit as their idea of a serving was huge, but they made preparations, just in case.

When the platters were brought out, one of the kitchen helpers came with the server. The platters were warm for the meat and fries and cold for the garnishes and salad. The tzatziki sauce came in a bowl with a small ladle in it. Tony sent that back as he said, "If you can ladle it, it's too thin." The kitchen helper just picked up the bowl, grinned, and took it away.

Abby frowned, "Tony, that wasn't nice."

Tony frowned right back. "Was. I was polite about it; bet they thin it with buttermilk because most Americans don't know how thick it's supposed to be. And call me AJ."

Abby dimpled at that. "I was just waiting for an invitation." She frowned, "Pass the pita, please."

The server returned with a new bowl of tzatziki; this one had a spoon in it.

Tony nodded, "Thank you." He smiled at the table. "Might want to heat up the next platter of meat."

The server goggled at that. After a glance at the table, he realized that all the meat was gone, as were all the fries. The tomatoes were mostly still there, but the onion was gone, and the tzatziki was rapidly making it around the table. The salad bowl was in the middle of the table, empty. He couldn't believe how fast the men had moved.

Remy had wolfed his first sandwich in three bites and was quickly building another. He examined the tomato but declared, "It's not ripe. Just barely pink. Ick," and put the slice back on the platter.

Tim and Jimmy were right behind him, already halfway done with their first. The fries were gobbled between bites of gyros.

By the time the server was done blinking, everyone except Abby and Ducky had downed a sandwich and was building more. He just shrugged and went away to order another platter, minus the tomato, as the first platter still had most of its slices intact.

Tony eyed the thick sandwich Gibbs had created while he was dealing with the server. He shrugged and took it out of Gibbs' hand. This didn't go over well with Jet, so he snatched it back, getting only half, as the other half was being chewed. Tony let him have it back, as he still had a pile of fries to deal with.

Gibbs eyed the half-gyros with a mock-sad expression. "Jerk."

"Pig."

"Patience, Integrity, Guts. Yeah." Gibbs finished his food in two bites and started on his fries.

Abby enjoyed her food while she watched the others eat. She was amused to see that Gibbs didn't eat any salad, Tim and Jimmy took huge helpings, Tony took some, and so did Remy. Remy jammed his into his sandwich, while Tony put his in a bowl. She had a bowl, but everyone else just dumped theirs on their plates next to the fries.

Dean and Remy got into a bit of a fight over the last of the tzatziki but a barked, "Settle it," from Gibbs had them dividing it between them.

Their server returned with another round of everything, putting the platters down while someone held the empties for him to take. The busboy came by with water and put the pitcher on another table while he helped get the empty platters away.

The next round of sandwiches saw them all eating slower. Tony stuffed his sandwich full of meat and onions and spooned tzatziki on with a liberal hand. He alternated bites of sandwich with wads of fries dipped in ketchup.

Abby couldn't help a soft giggle. Tony looked at her, raising an eyebrow in question. She picked up a napkin and wiped at his cheek. "You've got ketchup."

Tony turned his head so she could get the splotch. "Thanks, Abs."

"Welcome." Abby squished the end of her sandwich to keep the tzatziki from dripping out. "You still working on your concert?"

"Yeah. Havin' trouble with the program. Most of what I know takes an orchestra. I practice with recordings ... sorta like lip syncing, but I would never do that with a live audience, so I'm limited to what I know that doesn't require backup musicians." He forked a mass of salad into his mouth and chewed morosely.

"Well, what about ..." Abby waved a hand. "service bands or something."

Tony shook his head. "They're all booked up. I already asked. So ..." he made puppy-dog eyes at her. "Help a fellow out with a suggestion or two?"

Abby snorted. "My musical knowledge, as far as classical goes, is limited to AC/DC and ELO."

Ducky frowned at his plate for a moment. "Well, let me think about it for a bit. I might have an idea or two."

Tony sighed. "Thanks, Duck. I'm really spinning my wheels. What the hell was I thinking?"

Gibbs offered, "That the kids need toys for Christmas and now's the best time to start."

Tony just pointed to Gibbs and went back to eating.

.

The case was solved the very next day. It seemed that Bass knew more than he thought he knew. He'd seen a boat, but hadn't made any connections. He remembered the registration number, as he said, "I just have a head for numbers." His pleased smirk disappeared when he was told the number of years he was facing.

The boat turned out to belong to a smuggler called Toad. And he was a soft target. He'd cried, swore he couldn't tell anyone anything, then folded like wet tissue paper. The case was closed, all information turned over to the Spanish, and that was that.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Tim eyed the envelope on his desk with some uneasiness. The last time something like that had turned up, Tony had opened it with some very negative results. Y. pestis was very negative, right?

Tony looked at the envelope too. "You ask?"

"I'm calling right now." Tim called down to the mailroom to ask why the envelope on his desk wasn't stamped with the usual stamps that proved it had been irradiated, scanned, and x-rayed. He found that the pink envelope hadn't gone through any of the mandated procedures. It took the mailroom staff five minutes to send in a team to remove the offending envelope for examination.

Tony sighed. "We're going to feel very silly if it turns out that some fangirl in the secretarial pool left that."

Gibbs ambled in with coffee. "No, we're not. Memos go around every month about just that. As in, 'Don't do it.'" He glanced at his watch. "Go home. I'm going home to work on my table."

Much to everyone's amusement, the old kitchen table that Gibbs had gotten after Dianne ―or was it Sheryl?― had cleaned him out, had collapsed when Remy had dumped an armful of groceries on it. He was now building a new one, with matching chairs.

Everyone headed out for home.

Ducky and Jimmy worked together and rode together. Jimmy drove. Tim and Tony drove in together too. Gibbs came in in his 'company' car. Dean, Cosmo, and Remy came and went on an irregular schedule, depending on their SEAL duties. Tony sometimes went into Quantico or down to Yorktown, but was usually at the Yard.

Gibbs nodded to Remy and headed for home. Remy and Dean had grocery duty, Cosmo was supposed to do it with Dean, but he had official duties for the next three or four days, so Dean was stuck. Not that he minded. He loved grocery shopping, unlike Gibbs, who hated it.

While Gibbs worked on his table, Remy ambled down the aisles of the grocery store, glowering at his list. "Dean, damnit, I swear you can't write worth shit." He showed Dean the list. "What the hell is number six?"

Dean eyed the line for a moment then said, "Can ... ol ... Canola oil. And the next one is ... mash ... mush?" he frowned. "Mushrooms."

"Where the hell did you learn to write?" Remy took the list and stuffed it into his pocket. He had memorized it all, except for the few he couldn't read.

Dean shrugged. "I learned to print in grade school. They don't teach cursive anymore. At least not in the school system I went to."

Remy thought for a moment. "That's just stupid. You have to at least be able to fill out forms."

"Yeah, And I catch no end of hell over my handwriting. I'm always having to redo reports and shit." Dean took a package of cookies off the shelf, eyed it, then snagged three more.

"We done?" Remy checked the contents of the cart against his memory.

Dean frowned. "I feel like I'm forgetting something but I'm not sure what."

Remy eyed the list he pulled from his shirt pocket. "Nope. Haven't forgotten anything. If it's not on the list, we don't need it."

They were checking out when Dean suddenly chuckled then said, "Remembered what we forgot. Don't need it now. Hazelnut creamer."

Remy laughed too. Tony was the only one in the pod who used the stuff.

Ducky settled in his comfortable chair in the library, medical journal in hand. He was going to read an interesting article on liver toxicity while he let his subconscious work on helping Tony with his program.

Jimmy joined Ducky a few moments later. "I checked the tuning. It's holding just fine. AJ's Steinway is good too. This is so nice."

Ducky nodded. "Yes, my young friend, it is." He started to read then looked up. "Timothy?"

"In his room, working on downloading something." Jimmy stuck his nose in a journal and fell into a description of blood contaminants.

Tim was downloading something, about twenty gigabytes of sheet music. He'd found the perfect program, and it included the opportunity to get everything the company had available for half price. It was a bit expensive, but Tim had taken up a collection from the pod, and it had worked out very reasonable when seven people chipped in on it.

He was also going to scan and convert any sheet music that Tony had that wasn't already in the library. That was for a later date.

Tony, meanwhile, was going over what he could play without an orchestral backing. He realized that there was a lot. He knew some, but it wouldn't be that hard to learn the rest, for him. He just had to decide. So he was visually scanning music to see what he already knew and what he could learn in the six weeks or so he had before the concert. He also worried about filling the auditorium.

Personal Contact Specialist Shirley Riley had told him that the venue she'd managed to acquire had seating for 600; he was hoping for half that. She'd shown him the handout sheets and posters, which hadn't gone over that well with him. He'd had to explain to her that using the Navy SEAL logo was illegal, he'd even quoted the regulation code so she could look it up. He'd then called her printer and explained that, if he saw those handbills or posters in use, he'd be very displeased, to the extent of the law. The man had assured him that there were only the proofs in existence, and that he'd destroy them and erase the files the second he got off the phone. He'd also asked what Tony wanted.

Tony had asked what the hell was wrong with something simple like his name and rank and a simple program list. He'd also demanded approval of everything to be printed before the work was finalized. He'd gotten rapid agreement to his requests, and a deadline for the delivery of his concert's repertoire.

He played scales to warm up, then realized that he was going to have to practice on his piano in the front parlor. He ambled down the stairs to tap on the library door. "Ducky, Jimmy. I'm really sorry, I'm going to have to practice on my piano. Much as I love the Bouse, I need to use mine. There's no way I'm moving a half-a-million-dollar piano more than an inch. And I'm sure my venue doesn't own one."

Ducky looked up with a smile. "Not to worry, dear boy; we'll just enjoy the music."

Jimmy grinned evilly. "You just don't want us to hear you mess up. Admit it."

Tony shrugged. "It can be a bit irritating when someone plays the same phrase over and over. If it gets to be too much, let me know, and I'll quit for the night." He closed the door to the library and went into the formal front parlor, shutting that door too. He patted the faithful Steinway, then opened it and settled in to play.

He played for four hours, going over everything he knew with an eye to what to work on. He frowned, realizing that he needed two forty-five minute sets and an encore, just in case.

He decided on two long pieces and enough shorter ones to make the sets. Then, just because he liked it, he added a third set of ragtime, jazz, and blues. He didn't plan on an encore after that. He probably wouldn't need it, but he could always come up with something on the spur of the moment.

He jumped when Ducky said, "Anthony, you need to rest. It's nearly midnight. Close the piano and go to bed." Ducky smiled. "Sorry if I startled you."

"It's okay, Ducky. You're right; I need to get to bed." He flexed his fingers, realizing that his hands and wrists were sore. "Ow. Should have stopped an hour ago. Did you hear anything in particular that you liked?"

Ducky nodded. "You did exceptionally well on the Scott Joplin pieces. You should include a couple. And you do very well on Chopin. I liked La Grande Valse Brilliante. But later for all this. It'll give me time to contemplate my favorites. And Jimmy might offer an opinion, if pressed."

Tony chuckled. 'I'll press-gang him into an opinion." He yawned, then finished, "Tomorrow."

They ambled companionably off to bed. Tony resolved to make full English tomorrow before he, Tim, and Jimmy, went off to the gym.

The next morning was interesting in both households. Gibbs was irritable, as he'd found a bit of metal in the board he was planning to use as part of the tabletop. Even worse than the inclusion was that he'd found it with his favorite plane, ruining the blade completely.

Remy, acknowledged by all the pod as the best sharpener in the group, had tried to polish it out, but the nick was too deep, and he had regretfully given up, saying, "Jet, sorry, man, no go. I'll pick up a new one tomorrow."

Gibbs had snarled wordlessly and joined the rest of the group for their run. He knew he was going to have words with his supplier. It wasn't that hard to x-ray wood to check for metallic inclusions, and for what he was paying, he expected exactly that.

Tony got up early so he could make breakfast and found that the tomatoes he was going to use were nearly green and wouldn't broil worth a damn. And the bacon was "American," when he'd expressly asked for English style. Ducky had said it didn't matter, but they could all see that he was disappointed. Especially when he insisted on oatmeal instead. They also joined the pod in a bad mood.

Remy shook his head at Tony. "Man, you in a bad mood. Jet in a bad mood. I'm agon' work out in the other room today."

Tony just glowered. "I don't know how fucking hard it could possibly be to say, 'Don't have English-style bacon, will American do?' instead of wishing something we don't want off on us. Fucker."

Dean offered, "Well, you know Ducky understood."

Tony nodded. "He did. But he was disappointed, we could all see it. I hate to disappoint him."

Jimmy agreed, "I do too. He's so easy to please, really." They reached the gym in good time and slammed in, tossing their rucks into their lockers then changing into shorts and t-shirts.

Tony gave lead to Cosmo, as he did from time to time; he felt that all his men should have practice in lead, just in case. He even planned to turn lead over to Tim and Jimmy, with Gibbs backing him up as oversight.

Cosmo nodded. "I think, since half of us are in a foul mood, we might do yoga, then tai chi, and end with a cool-down meditation. If we're up for it, some swimming?"

Everyone agreed with that, so they headed for a yoga studio to see if they could use it. They could, so Cosmo led them through a forty-minute routine, then stepped back, asking Tony to lead the tai chi. Tony took out his frustration a bit by leading them through the full traditional 108 forms, leaving them all sweating. A fifteen-minute meditation cooled them down enough.

"Ok, everyone, swim or not?" Cosmo was hopeful; he wanted to swim, but he wasn't going to force anyone. It turned out that everyone was in for a good swim, which meant that they would be taking a taxi bus home. Tim took the opportunity to call for one, telling the dispatcher to have the driver come in and page them, then wait.

They trooped back to the locker room to change into trunks for their swim.

Swimming was nearly second nature to all of them. Dean, Remy, Cosmo, and Tony were SEALs, after all. Gibbs had gotten the regulation training while in the Marines, but he'd learned to love the water lately. Jimmy and Tim had also learned while undergoing the pseudo-SEAL training. Now they hit the pool like a real pod of seals, choosing a lane and diving in without splashing.

The lifeguard watched, then called a friend. "You need to get down here. You have to see this bunch to believe it. Really, laps like a machine, all of them." It wasn't that unusual for a new guard to call friends when they saw something exceptional, so the man's friend came down to see what was going on.

So the team finished their four-mile swim and climbed out of the pool to find a crowd, just sitting around, watching them.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at the group; Tony ignored them in favor of drying off. The rest of the pod followed their lead and more or less ignored the bunch.

Most of the group dispersed when the pod headed for the locker rooms, but one man stopped Tim, as looking the most approachable, and asked, "You ever consider coaching?"

Tim frowned for a moment then said, "No. I don't think I'd be good at it. I do Webelos, and that's enough. Sorry."

The man approached Gibbs next, as he was just behind Tim. Gibbs replied flatly, "I don't think you want any of us coaching kids. I'm a retired Marine and the rest are SEALs. A bit too high-pressure for kids. Thanks for asking, though." The man went away disappointed, but understanding. He would never know that Gibbs took the time to find one of the junior NCIS agents who would love to coach and sent him over.

Tony whistled softly as he showered. He was still working on his program. He flinched slightly as a voice from behind him asked, "A galliard?"

Tony replied, "Yeah; I'm giving a charity concert, and the program list is giving me fits."

"Well, Tchaikovsky's Concerto No. 1 is always good." The voice proved to belong to a young man of about twenty or so. He was thin, but not skinny, very blond with light grey eyes.

"Be nice, but I can't get backup. Even the high-school orchestras are booked. I'm solo." Tony scrubbed shampoo through his hair, so he missed the slight frown.

"Oh, that's too bad. So ... How about ... Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, that's good."

Tony nodded. "I am considering that. Good, popular, recognizable." Tony turned his back to rinse his hair, forgetting that the man didn't know him. He missed the gasp as the noise of the water hid it.

"Excuse me ... I need to ... see ... Bye." Retreating footsteps told their own tale.

Tony blinked water out of his eyes, shrugged and went back to his shower.

He realized that he was making himself nuts, trying to figure out his program. He decided to just play things he liked and be damned to it. That meant he had most of his list figured out already, as he had several favorites memorized; all he had to do with them was polish them a bit. The rest of his program would be decided by what Ducky and Jimmy liked that he knew. He sighed with relief.

Gibbs had noticed the by-play and kept an eye on the man. "That was a huge sigh. You okay?"

Tony nodded. "Yeah. Just realized that I was stressing over my program and really ... I don't need to. I'm not Horowitz or any other great pianist, so I'll just play what I like, whether it really goes together or not. I can manage the whole program from things I already know; just have to polish them up some. It's a real relief."

Gibbs grumbled inaudibly and finished drying off.

Tony had already heard the story of the plane from Remy. "Sorry to hear about your plane, Boss."

"Thanks. I'm having words with the supplier as soon as I get home." Gibbs hauled on his pants and a t-shirt. "You going to practice this afternoon?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Thought I'd drop by and give it a listen. You play very well." Gibbs wouldn't admit he loved listening to Tony, but he did.

"Okay. Bring some English-style bacon from that deli on the way." Tony was going to get Ducky his real, full English if it killed him. "I'll get some Roma tomatoes from that produce market on my way."

Gibbs who'd heard the story of the bacon from Tim, just nodded and mumbled, "Okay."

They were walking down the corridor that led from the locker room to the front door, when a side door burst open and a Tae Kwan Do class of about fifteen kids came pouring out. They were all hyped and being silly. One boy tried a side kick on a friend of his, but missed. Tony blocked him and caught his ankle. The kid stood there, wide-eyed and wondering how much trouble he was in.

Tony grinned at him and said, "Okay, what was your first mistake?"

The instructor had noticed the activity and was ready to break things up. When Gibbs smiled at him and winked, he relaxed.

The kid realized that he wasn't in a whole lot of trouble, so he settled down and thought. "Well, fooling around in the hall?"

"First. Next?" Tony tugged on the boy's ankle, making him hop to stay upright.

"Kicking? Um ... but ..."

Tony nodded. "Right. Kicking. Never kick like that. You put yourself out of balance ... and give your opponent a bunch of leverage. Now." He let the boy go. "Scoot."

The instructor had other ideas. "Line up!"

All the students scrambled to get into line. "Bow." They all bowed. The instructor turned to Tony. "Thank you for giving that lesson." He bowed. Tony bowed back. When they were released the kids scattered like a covey of quail. Tony laughed at that and rejoined his pod.

The instructor offered, "You look like you really know what you're doing."

Tony nodded. "Lucky I saw who it was before the kick. That kid could have gotten really hurt otherwise."

"I know. I'm always telling them not to spar in the halls." He chuckled softly. "Kids."

When they made it to the entryway, the desk attendant told Tim that their taxi wasn't there yet, so they settled in to wait. Tony wandered around a bit, then sat down at the piano that sat in the waiting area to see if it was in tune. It was, so he started to play, just to pass the time. He never noticed the crowd that gathered quietly, settling into chairs and couches around the room.

One of the attendants saw the man who'd spoken to Tony in the showers. "Hey, Brad, give this guy a listen. He's really good."

Brad Spencer was the son of Blake Spencer, a promoter of some prominence in DC. He dug out his phone and recorded a bit then sent it to his father. He attached the note, 'Play this. Charity concert. Promote?'.

Blake Spencer listened to the clip and agreed that he would promote the concert, free of charge as it was for Toys for Tots. He could write any expenses off on his taxes.

Blake made a few calls. He was just about as connected as a man could be. He found out that the concert was going to be in a small venue on the Navy Yard, in an insecure arena. It only held about 600 hundred seats, so he decided to fill them with high-society types that would donate as well as paying for the ticket. This led him to researching Anthony Dominic DiNozzo in depth― he needed a hook to hang his promo on.

What he found, he passed on to his contacts, who passed it on to theirs. The word got around that a decorated Navy SEAL was putting on a concert for Marine Toys for Tots. The ticket sales skyrocketed.

Brad Spencer texted Shirley about reserve tickets and was told he could have 100... but she mis-typed, and he thought he had 1000.

When they all got back to Mallard Manor, Tony produced the groceries that he and Gibbs had gotten. He ambled into the kitchen, whistling softly.

Gibbs eyed him then said, "Don't recognize that one."

"Baby Elephant Walk." He realized that no one looked like they had a clue. "Henry Mancini? Hatari?" Everyone looked blank. "Philistines."

Ducky chuckled. "Perhaps you might play it for us later?"

"Ok." Tony finished unloading things. "Here we go. Mushrooms, onions, tomatoes, proper English bacon. That oatmeal this morning is long gone."

Ducky started to say something but Dean cut him off. "No. You've got a right to be disappointed, even sulk a bit. Not hearin' it."

Tony just pointed to Dean and went back to his cooking. "Someone peel me some potatoes. I'll make hash browns." He grinned at Ducky and added, "I know it's not English but there's more people than I expected. That's why I got extra eggs." He eyed the boxes of eggs for a moment then said, "It looks like Jet did too. Good."

Ducky and Cosmo started setting the table. Jimmy started tea water, then got out of the way. Everyone else sat down at the huge kitchen table except Gibbs, who started peeling potatoes, and Tim, who took them to grate into a bowl of cold water.

It didn't take long to get everything started. Tony even went so far as to boil water so he could poach Ducky's eggs. "If anyone else wants poached, yell now." He got several replies which added up to, "Whatever," so he decided to poach the first dozen and scramble the rest.

Poaching eggs tended to be a very hands-on operation, so Tony turned the bacon, bangers, and hash browns over to Gibbs, and the tomatoes to Jimmy. The beans and mushrooms could more or less tend themselves, with an occasional stir to keep them from scorching. Toast was no problem; they just moved the toaster over to the sideboard behind the table and let Remy toast away.

Ducky just settled back and watched with pleasure as his new housemates made a brunch fit for a king.

Tony served it all plated up with a banger, two pieces of bacon, two poached eggs over hash browns, beans, half a tomato, mushrooms and toast. He put the scrambled eggs in a bowl and the extra meat, tomatoes, and mushrooms on a platter, and had Gibbs and Jimmy help him bring it all to the table.

The meal was surprisingly sedate; food was eaten with mouths closed, conversation carried on between bites. Plates and bowls were passed by request; the one time Remy forgot, Ducky just said, "Remiel," in a chiding tone of voice.

Remy flushed, "Je suis désolé, Ducky." He sat back and asked for the toast, which was passed to him without comment. Ducky smiled.

Gibbs watched the by-play and grinned at Tony, who just shrugged. "Boss, we're not actually savages; it's just ... well, you know how it goes."

Gibbs did; living in barracks and eating in mess did do a number on manners. And living rough was worse. He'd done his best with his housemates, and they'd cooperated easily; now Ducky was adding a fine polish to the deal.

There was a bit of horseplay as they cleared the table, but it was more in the nature of shoulder- jostling and amiable name-calling.

Tim shoulder-bumped Jimmy, who bumped him back, saying, "Watch the body check, jerk."

Tim handed him a pile of cups. "Here. Wash. Use hot water. Jerk, yourself."

Jimmy snickered, "Not in public, thankyouverymuch. That's sort of a private activity."

Everyone started snickering at that, including Tim. "You sure?"

"Idiot."

Remy smacked Tim on the shoulder. "Ick. TMI, dude, way TMI."

Ducky sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Jethro, do you ever get the feeling that you're running some sort of daycare?"

"All the time, Duck, all the time." Gibbs poked Jimmy in the ribs and smacked Tim on the head. "Settle it."

They settled and finished KP quickly. Remy, Dean, and Cosmo headed out, claiming duties at home. Gibbs just nodded, grimaced, and said, "Yard and laundry." Then he smirked in a totally self-satisfied way. "I got my chores done last night." He invited someone to go to the lumber yard with him, frankly claiming the need for 'a strong body and a weak mind' to help him wrestle board feet.

Tony shrugged. "Guess that leaves me out, Jet. Take Tim or Jimmy."

Jimmy shook his head. "Sorry; I'm at the homeless clinic until 1900. In fact, if I don't leave right now, I'll be late." He scuttled out, grabbing his bag on the way.

Tim agreed that he'd go with Gibbs to help. "Not like I have anything else to do. Like, set up the library computer, fix the bad router to AJ's room, or run a new cable in the entertainment center. But that can all wait." He sneered at Tony as he ambled by.

Tony just shrugged. "More important that Iron Jet doesn't throw his damn back out again."

Tim nodded at that, "True, true. I'll be back when I'm back."

Gibbs walked into the lumber yard with a stride and expression that told everyone in the place that he was pissed. Tim followed trying to look stern. With his baby face it wasn't that easy.

"I'd like to speak to the manager." Gibbs glanced around; he knew the manager and knew he should be in today.

"Sorry, sir. He's not available. Maybe I can help?" The kid looked nervous, as well he might. Gibbs had a reputation in the lumber yard already.

"No; above your pay grade. I need management." He produced a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. "This is a copy, I've still got the original on file." Gibbs flattened the paper on the counter and pointed to a line. "It says, right here ..." he tapped the line with his finger. "that all your wood is x-rayed for metallic inclusions."

The clerk sighed. "I'll get the assistant manager. The manager is dealing with a family emergency today, so that's as good as it gets." He hustled into the back to get the AM.

Mr. Clark wasn't best pleased to be pulled away from his accounts; he was even less pleased when Gibbs dragged him out to the truck to see the slab himself.

Gibbs finished his bitch by saying, "Ruined the blade on my plane too. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

Mr. Clark fingered the board, eyed the inclusion, then said, "I'll replace the wood and the blade. Bring in the ruined blade when you get a chance."

Gibbs, geared for an argument, blinked owlishly for a moment. "Okay, thanks. What about the wood?"

"I'll have to order you another board; we don't keep that quality in stock. Be at least a week. The blade ... come inside and I'll find one for you." He led the way back inside.

It didn't take long to find the blade, wrapped in oil paper on a warehouse shelf, which relieved Remy of the task. The wood went on order over the company net and that was that.

He spent two hours picking wood, checking grain, and Tim wasn't sure what else. All he knew was he was shlepping boards to the truck on a regular basis. He didn't mind; he learned a bunch.

Tony settled at the desk in his room. He loved the library, but, for this task, he needed quiet. He was going to listen to every piece he was contemplating for his program, and cut each one down to the required time limit. He spent the rest of the day making lists, crossing off, adding, and fiddling. He went to bed with a raging headache.

Tim peeked into Tony's room to check on him. He usually didn't go to bed until very late, and it was only 2215.

Ducky looked over Tim's shoulder. "Looks like he's worried himself into a headache. I'll just get a couple of tablets for him."

Jimmy nodded. "He'll wake up with a migraine, sure as the world."

Tim frowned for a moment then said, "Better let me take them in. I'll put them on his bedside table."

Ducky shook his head, "I can do it."

Jimmy bit his lip, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted without insulting either Ducky or Tony. Tim didn't bother. "Ducky, if you wake him up, he's liable to take a swing at you before he realizes who it is. We haven't been here long enough for him to feel secure yet. Let me do it."

"Very well. But all I'd have to do is ease in quietly."

Jimmy shook his head. "Oh, no. Ducky. Not good. You sneak around and he'll pound you for sure."

Ducky thought about that then said, "I suppose you'll just march in, slam things around and leave?"

Tim chuckled, "Not exactly. I'll be quiet, but I won't sneak. That's a sure way to have him up and swinging."

Ducky ambled off, fetched the tablets, as he called them, and handed them to Tim.

Tim just walked in, put them on the table with a bottle of water and left. He shut the door with a soft click.

Tony opened his eyes for a second, saw the water and pills, took them, then closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

Tony finally had his program. He'd finally just picked the pieces he liked best and arranged them in an order that gave him one long piece and several shorter ones in two forty-five minute sets and a shorter end set. He was satisfied.

He played it through with Ducky and Jimmy listening for rough spots. He stopped from time to time to have Ducky make notes. Despite being a great tuner, Jimmy wasn't that up on classical music. He admitted to being more in the Barber Shop Quartet/Jazz/blues clique.

Ducky was pleased to say. "It sounds very nice. There are a few rough spots, but that's to be expected. A good bit of practice and you'll be just fine."

Tony grimaced. "Practice that's bound to drive you all bonkers."

Jimmy brandished a set of headphones. "Noise canceling."

Tim shrugged. "Won't bother me. I'll just go to my room and play a war game or something."

Ducky chuckled, "Mother."

Jimmy grinned but Tim said, "Huh?"

"Mother had a bad habit of practicing in the middle of the night. Said that was when she was most inspired. Did it for years. I got used to it. I can just sit in the library and read. Practice away."

They all wandered off to do whatever needed doing. Tony sighed happily; this was going to work out great.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Monday rolled around as it does, and things heated up a bit.

Brad Spencer eyed his spreadsheet with glee. He'd managed to pimp the tickets to the highest levels of society. He was delighted. He had no idea who this guy was, but he was very good, and the charity was high-profile. This added to his reputation as an entrepreneur and would help him get out of his father's shadow. Not that he was too worried about that just yet. He was only twenty-eight, after all.

Blake examined the spreadsheet then said, "Well, if we could get a thousand tickets without a problem, check to see how many the venue actually has. We might be able to get another couple hundred and offer them as well."

Brad nodded. "Ok, Dad. I hear this guy is some sort of NCIS agent. Decorated and all that. Wonder what we could make of that?"

Blake shook his head. "We don't want to do that. Services don't like it. But find out his particulars and put them on the program sheets. Not the posters or handouts, just the concert program folders." He winked. "Make sure it has his full name and rank on it. Let word of mouth do the rest."

"We're not handling the printing. Some woman at NCIS has a deal with someone." Brad frowned, imagining the mess that was liable to be.

"I'll call her." Blake picked up his phone and called NCIS. A bit of flattery and a mention that he had picked up promoting the concert as a donation got him Shirley.

When he told her that they'd sold all one thousand tickets that they'd been allotted, she nearly fainted. "OH! Oh dear. We planned on using the Mellon. There's only about 800 available seats. The Great Hall has a capacity of around four hundred to a thousand. But the fire marshals don't like us to seat more than 800 for a concert." she shuffled papers for a moment. "I don't know what to do. I've already sold 400 seats. How am I going to seat ..." she nearly wailed. "fourteen hundred people. Oh my God."

Blake scowled at the printout of her text. "Your text to my son clearly offers a thousand seats." He listened to Shirley babble, then said in the most soothing tone he could manage, "Why don't you just put all the arrangements in my hands. I'll deal with the printing, venue, and anything else needed." He listened again as Shirley thanked him effusively. "Don't worry about a thing. I'll get in touch with Special Agent DiNozzo and we'll get all our ducks in a row. I'll make arrangements for sound checks and whatever else is needed. You just smile and look pretty on the big night." He hung up, shaking his head. "What a mess. The Andrew W. Mellon Auditorium? Really? The acoustics suck. Not to mention the logistics of getting in and out. It's great for meetings and that, but a concert?" he made a rude noise.

Brad had waited until Bruce was off the phone. "Ok, what the hell?"

"Woman added an extra zero to the hundred seats she had for us. So ... we're overbooked like a bitch. I'll call ... not sure who just yet. Is this guy going to freeze if we get a good booking?"

Brad, who'd been looking Tony up on his smart phone, said, "Doubt it. He's a SEAL, on top of being a Senior Field Agent with NCIS. Doubt he'd freeze over much of anything. I'll call him and explain the situation to him. I think he'd hate being surprised a lot more than he'd hate a big audience."

.

Tony answered his phone, wondering who could be calling him this early on a Monday—a Monday without a case. He picked up and said, "DiNozzo." He'd dropped the 'Very Special Agent' shit when he'd been outed as a SEAL.

Brad took a deep breath then said, "I'm not exactly sure how to address you, sir. But ... my name is Bradley Spencer. We spoke a few days ago, just for a moment. You were planning your concert."

Tony got that feeling of ants crawling down his back. "Go on."

"Well, I heard you play later and my Dad's a huge promoter, so we decided to promote your concert, seeing as how it's a charity and a write-off, not to mention being a good cause. There's been some trouble; we sold way too many seats, so we have to move the concert to a bigger venue. We wondered if you had any preference and wouldn't be upset by this." He took a deep breath then added, "Sir."

Tony, used to Abby-babble, took a moment to sort out the problem. "Okay, sold too many seats as in…?"

"A thousand. And she's sold four hundred."

Tony groaned. "Damn. And she gave me fifty to sell, which I did. Vance had fifty and sold those. We need two thousand seats. And standing room. Fuck."

"Oh, that's not a problem, if we move the concert to an afternoon, instead of an evening. And, I might add, that's very popular just now. Well, we can find a venue; we just have to do it soon, so we know how many seats and so on. Do you have a preference?" Brad relaxed the second he realized that Tony wasn't going to throw some sort of diva-tude on him.

"I don't care. I just need to be able to do sound checks and a dress rehearsal in venue no more than two days before ... and make sure the piano is tuned ... I'll check the thing no more than three hours before performance and, if I have to bring in my tuner, someone'll have to pay him."

"Okay. That's all reasonable." Brad checked a sheet that his father handed him. "You going to have a problem performing in front of The Secretary of The Navy or ... um ... have no idea who half these people are."

Tony chuckled. "No; don't give a damn. If they're not shootin' at me, I don't care. Relax. I'm more worried about other things. Like ... should I wear Whites? Or a tux? If it was an evening, black-tie event I'd wear Mess Dress, but for afternoon?"

Brad made a wise decision. "I don't know. Most afternoon charity events are semi-formal. I'd rather get you a night; it's more conducive to donations. Must be seen to be doing the proper thing, you know. In other words, out-donate your so-called friends, one-up the shit out of them. Maybe you should ask someone?"

Tony agreed. "I'll talk to my CO; what he says, goes. Just need to know where and when."

"I'll get back to you as soon as I know. Do not sell any more tickets. If someone asks you for some, give them this number and tell them to mention your name. We'll deal. That way we won't out-sell the new venue. If you have any questions, problems, concerns ... you know the drill." Brad then gave Tony two numbers, one for tickets and the other his personal number.

Tony hung up, eyed the phone like it was explosive and grumped, "Fuck."

Gibbs, who'd been absently eavesdropping, said, "What?"

"Shirley Riley is an idiot. She fucked up and told some promoter named Spencer that he could have a thousand tickets. He's sold them all, she got rid of four hundred, I sold fifty and so did Vance. We've got to change venues. He said he'd take care of it all but he's like ... ten." Tony contemplated shooting someone then dismissed the thought. Way too much paperwork.

Gibbs sighed. "Better call him back. I got rid of twenty and so did Tim. You're looking at a full house ... standing room only for the night."

"Shit. Belt's going to have a fit. And I'm not sure what to wear. If it's evening, it's black tie. Afternoon, I have no idea."

Gibbs eyed something on his monitor and said absently, "Whites."

Tony groaned, "I hate Whites."

"Yeah? Try Marine dress blues. Collar ought to be called a noose. But we do look fine." Gibbs looked up from his reading with a grin.

Tony snorted. "If this thing's in the evening, it's black tie. Afternoon, semi-formal. I'm gonna be choked no matter what." He went back to his search with a sigh.

.

Captain Rafe McKinley, commander of the East Coast SEALs, eyed the email and grumbled, "DiNozzo, what the fuck have you gotten your stupid self into now? I suppose I have to issue an exception and dress up like a tart on crack too." He notified Belt to make sure that DiNozzo's uniform was up to standard and all his medals, ribbons and awards in proper order.

Belt eyed the note and snarled. He hated notifying the dressers that they had to organize this sort of thing. They tended to whine.

He actually swore when he realized that he had to attend the damn thing too.

The dressers were all in a tizzy. They had to dress four SEALs and a Marine Gunnery Sergeant. They kept uniforms for the Captain and Lieutenant dressed out and ready at all times. Belt finally told them to just do it and stop bitching. They replied that they needed Gibbs' sizes.

This resulted in two of them descending on Gibbs at the only place they were sure of finding him: the NCIS bullpen. The entire squad room goggled at the sight of Gibbs following them into the men's room, bitching all the way.

.

Tony got the date of his concert and found that he had more time than he'd expected. He'd thought three weeks and had had a bit of a meltdown; but, since they had to change venues, he now had six weeks. He actually breathed a sigh of relief.

Brad called him on Friday of the first week of practice. "Hey, DiNozzo. I finally managed to pin down the number of tickets sold. I've managed to get The Strathmore Center and, due to the new construction, we've got 3,000 seats and 400 in the pit. There's also standing room. We're set. I've made arrangements for you to get in and just look around a bit on Sunday. Well, I've got to go approve the posters and handout sheets. Bye."

Tony eyed the phone for a moment then got up, walked into the men's room, and promptly threw up.

Gibbs followed him, waited until he was done then offered him a bottle of water. "Rinse and spit." Tony obeyed. "You gonna be okay?"

Yeah. I ... wasn't expecting that many people. We're talking around 3600 people. I was expecting, at most, any East Coast SEAL that wasn't deployed, their dependents, SecNav, maybe. SecDef, vague possibility. And ... that's about it. Total audience probably four hundred or so. Juliette Foxtrot Charlie." He took the wet paper towels Gibbs offered and wiped his face and neck.

"It's gonna be okay. You're good enough to pull this off. Just practice." Gibbs hadn't a clue if it would work or not, but he gave it his best shot. Encouraging Tony wasn't really that hard. All he had to do was tell him it was okay.

"I'll be fine, Boss. Just ... I've thrown up before most of the really tough ops. I'll just drink the rest of my water and lean on the wall for a bit." Tony suited action to words and tried to relax.

Jimmy poked his head in, asked, "Food poisoning?" as he eyed Tony.

"No. Nerves. Found out how many seats." Tony rolled the cold bottle over his forehead.

"Oh. Bad?" Jimmy thought maybe they hadn't sold many and Tony was upset about it.

"Almost four thousand. Might actually get that many if they sell standing room." Tony swallowed thickly.

Jimmy goggled at Tony for a moment. "Oh. OH! Holy shit!"

Tony just nodded. "Exactly."

Tim poked Jimmy to get him out of the way. "What's going on? Vance sent me."

Gibbs filled Tim in. Tim looked appropriately awed then said, "I'll tell The Director. He might give you time off, if you need it."

Tony shook his head. "Don't need time off to brood. I just need to make sure to have practice time every day."

Tim nodded at that. "You do. Brood yourself into a funk, I mean. And keeping busy is good. I'll tell Ducky. And the Director." Tim hurried out to spread the word where it was needed.

Remy showed up just as Tony was getting himself together. "AJ? Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?"

"Nerves. Found out how many seats sold. They've moved me from Mellon to Strathmore Center. Available seats are full and they're talking about selling standing room."

Remy shrugged. "Don't see the problem. They're not gonna be shootin' at ya."

Tony just snarled. "Might be less nervous if they were."

Remy just snickered. "Bawk! Bawk!"

"Fucker."

.

Tony's routine changed a bit. He still got up at 0600 and ran with Tim and Jimmy. They then went to the gym for either yoga and tai chi or weight training with the pod, then on to work. He still swam the Anacostia three times a week on his lunch. But his evenings were spent practicing.

Ducky and Jimmy actually took turns dragging him out of the front parlor to eat supper. They also made sure that he went to bed at a reasonable hour. Their idea of reasonable, not his.

One evening, late in the week, he was practicing obsessively.

Ducky ambled in. "Anthony. Come, supper is ready."

"In a sec, Duck. I've just got this one section to work on." Tony turned back to the piano only to have Ducky gently close the keyboard.

"No, Anthony. Now, please." Ducky took Tony by the wrist. He didn't try to wrestle him, he was too small and too old. He just held him. "Come. You're obsessing and mistreating yourself. Come eat."

Tony blinked. "Oh. Am I?"

"Yes, you are. Come along now. Jimmy made a very nice Shepherd's Pie, with peas. And the mash has sour cream in it. There's also a lovely spring greens salad with poppy seed dressing and hot rolls." Ducky dragged Tony to the table by his wrist. "Now, sit down."

Tony settled in his place with a sigh. He had to admit that his hands and wrists were aching and his stomach rumbling. "I'm starved. I guess I lost track of time. What time is it?"

"1900. It's late for me, but Ducky says that some society people don't eat supper until 2100 or later. I don't think I'd like that." Jimmy put the pie on the table; everything else was already set. "There. Ducky?"

Ducky served himself a big spoonful of pie. "Looks as delicious as it smells. Where did you get the lamb?"

"At that Greek restaurant we like. I was telling the waitress about looking for lamb for the pie and she told me that they make their gyros meat from scratch, so I just asked if I could buy some of the ground lamb before they spiced it for gyros. She called a couple of days ago and told me she'd set up several bundles of two-pound batches and did I want some. I took three and put two in the freezer." Jimmy took his turn, then passed the pie on to Tony.

Tony smiled. "You did good. It really does smell great." His stomach took that opportunity to protest its emptiness again. "Sorry. I've got to ... keep better track of time."

Jimmy shook his head. "No, Tim and I have to. You'll never do it."

Tony blinked for a moment. "Speaking of Tim, where the hell is he?"

Ducky smirked at that. "He's paying the piper, so to speak. You know he sold an hour of tech time at the sealed-bid auction. Well, tonight is the night. Gibbs is playing gooseberry for him. And well he might. That woman is a ... I believe you call them aggressive cougars? He's terrified of her."

Jimmy nodded. "As well he should be. It's that Margaret Adams from the secretarial pool. Woman's a head-hunter."

Tony shuddered. "Man, poor Timmy. That woman is a head-hunter."

Ducky had never heard the term. "What would that mean? I've only heard it used as a description for a person hunting for people to hire or for bounty hunters."

Tony chuckled, "Some people call them prick hunters. Women who want to bed every man in the company. Maggie is working on it, but she's got the rep and no one wants anything to do with her now."

Ducky shook his head. "Not my idea of a good time at all." He poked at his salad for a moment before saying, "I'm changing the subject. Anthony, I do believe that you should take a short break. Just tonight. You'll burn yourself out. And limit your practice time to no more than four hours a day until the last few days before your concert. I think you should get an appointment to do a run-through at least a week before the full rehearsal. Have someone record it, then listen to yourself."

Tony considered Ducky's advice for a moment. "I think you're right. I'm obsessing. And my hands do hurt. I'll make an early night of it tonight, and I think I'll just skip the weights; hard on my hands when they're already sore."

Jimmy agreed. "That's good. You might consider a swim instead, just to switch things up."

Tony nodded. "Good idea." He finished his food and took his plate to the sink. They all cleared their own places and took turns filling and starting the dishwasher.

Ducky nodded to the small side room off the kitchen. It was intended to be the housekeeper's quarters, but they'd turned it into a small but well-appointed clinic. "Come here and let me see what you've done to yourself."

Tony sat down in the comfortable chair next to Ducky's desk. "I don't think I've done much. Just overworked a bit."

Ducky took the extended hands and turned them over, then back palm up. He ran his fingers over the palms, then took one hand in both of his. He flexed Tony's wrist, then had him make a fist. "I think you're right. You've just overdone it a bit. Limit your practice sessions to no more than three hours until the week before the concert, then start going through your whole program. I'm going to prescribe paraffin baths after each session."

Tony snickered a bit when Ducky pronounced 'paraffin' pair-e-fēn. Ducky just snorted at him.

He produced a paraffin bath and plugged it it. "Now, it'll take a bit to warm up." Ducky patted Tony's knee. "I'll have you fixed up in a trice, just relax." Ducky checked the wax, then got out a bottle of massage oil.

Ducky massaged Tony's hands until the wax warmed. When he was sure it was properly warm, he had Tony put his hands into the wax. Tony sighed softly as the warmth penetrated his joints.

"Five minutes. Good enough." Ducky patted Tony's left hand. "This one first, I think. Leave your right hand in the wax."

Tony obeyed and let Ducky do what he wanted; which included massaging each finger, his palm and his wrist.

"Ok, put this hand back in the wax and give me the other."

Tony did as he was told and Ducky could tell that he was almost asleep. He finished with the other hand and tugged Tony to his feet. "Anthony, let's go watch some television. Okay?"

"Mmm. Okay. Movie?" Tony wasn't bothering to wake up any; he just went where he was pointed.

"Anything you like." Ducky led Tony to the back room, where Jimmy already had one of Tony's favorite movies set up, ready to watch. They settled in to watch, let Tony nap, and waited for Tim to come home.

.

Tim and Gibbs entered Conference Room #2 and set up for Tim's repair job. He had gotten as much information in advance as he could and decided that the problem was most likely a virus. He had several scanning programs that he'd written himself, and he was going to use them to move the job along as fast as possible.

Gibbs settled into a comfortable chair in the small conversation grouping at one side of the room. He'd stay there, unobtrusively waiting, unless Ms. Adams tried something she shouldn't. He'd met the woman once and didn't mind admitting that he'd run. He was a bit particular about his women, and she wasn't it. And, despite popular opinion, red hair wasn't a prerequisite; a bit of common sense was.

Ms. Adams clicked in in wearing a pair of fuck-me shoes with four-inch platform soles and six-inch heels to match. Since she was already five feet, ten inches tall, it really wasn't that good an idea. It didn't help that they were a bit too large, either. She fell off the sole, twisting her ankle as she staggered. She righted herself and plopped into the chair at the foot of the table in a graceless manner, sprawling out in what she thought was a sexy pose.

Tim eyed these antics, then just asked, "So, virus? Or do you know?"

He reached out for the computer case, only to be blocked by Ms. Adams, who said, "What's the rush? Maybe we should discuss what it's actually doing?"

Tim shook his head. "That won't be necessary. All I have to do is download a couple of diagnostics and let them run. Why don't we do that first, then we can ... talk." He had absolutely no intention of letting that woman get within his personal space if he could help it. He evaded her grasp and picked up the computer. "I'll just sit here." He settled at the head of the table, grateful that she'd picked the foot. The head had several plugs that he needed.

It didn't take him long to figure out that she hadn't updated anything in ... well, ever. So he began the task of downloading all the updates she'd neglected. "This should take about ten minutes. I'll have to sit right here to supervise the downloads and shut down the computer on demand. Coffee?"

"Oh, yes, please. Cream, two sugars." She smiled in a manner she hoped was flirtatious, but just looked silly. At her age she shouldn't use that much mascara, and purple was definitely not her color. "Just stir it with your finger."

Tim thought, 'Ick,' but just said, "Probably shouldn't. It's a bit too hot for that sort of carryon, Ms. Adams."

"Oh, please, call me Maggie." She eyed Tim as a starving man eyes a t-bone. "Carryon? I've never heard that expression before."

Tim got up to pour coffee. "It's English slang. I must have picked it up from Ducky."

"Well, I think it's really cute." Ms. Adams tried to move from the foot of the table to the right-hand side of the head. Gibbs looked up, but Tim shook his head slightly.

"Wouldn't sit there, if I were you. If you spill, it'll ruin your machine. And the seat there is more comfortable." He pointed at the foot of the table. "I'm going to be spreading cables all over too."

Gibbs got up to refill his coffee, causing Maggie to squeak. "Evening." He filled his mug and returned to his seat, Maggie now aware that they had company. Tim nodded at him, finished with his coffee, and settled back in his seat.

"I didn't know we had company. Is that really necessary?" Maggie let her disappointment show.

Tim didn't even look up from downloading a program. "He's my ride."

"I thought you drove a Porsche." Maggie tried a pout, which Tim thought made her look like she was sucking a lemon.

"I do, but not in this weather, nor in to work anymore." Tim checked his download; it was done, so he started running a scan, hooking his laptop up to hers. His laptop was much more powerful than her six-hundred-dollar Wal-Mart special, so it didn't take long to find that she was totally undefended. "No antivirus program?" She shrugged. "Well, you've got half a dozen and a trojan. I'm still checking for worms and ..." He shook his head and shut up; her expression said she had no idea what he was talking about, nor did she care to.

He spent the next ten minutes checking everything. He knew she'd paid for an hour, but it wasn't going to take him that long to do the job. "Do you want me to repartition your hard drive? You're wasting an awful lot of space. I could set you up with ... a way to back things up so that you have double redundancy. If you accidentally delete something you don't want to, it'll be in the other partition."

"Oh, yes, I'd love that." Her breathy tone made Tim glance up; she licked her lips suggestively. Tim returned his eyes to his monitor and the dancing sine waves on it. He managed to suppress a shudder, barely.

Tim did what needed to be done then leaned back. "It'll take a bit to process. More coffee?" Maggie shook her head, which was a mistake on her part. "Jet?"

Gibbs usually didn't let anyone get him coffee, but they'd planned this in advance. "Sure. Thanks."

Tim went over to take Gibbs' cup. He filled it and his own, dosing his with sugar. He returned to the seating area and handed Gibbs his cup. He then settled in the chair next to him. "How's AJ doing? Really?"

Gibbs smirked at Maggie over his cup. "He's gonna burn out if we don't watch him. I noticed that he's flexing his fingers like they hurt."

"I was afraid of that. He's practicing too much. He needs to back off and just work on the rough spots until two weeks before the concert. What'll we do?" Tim sipped his coffee, relaxing into his chair.

Maggie pouted at the two men, quite aware that her guns were well and truly spiked. She had been warned by several of her friends that her plans were known, but she'd thought she'd be able to add the geeky McGee to her conquests. He obviously had counters for all her ploys. She mentally shrugged and moved on to her next target. Gibbs.

She got up and used the excuse of refilling her now-empty cup to move into the chair on the other side of Gibbs. "Well, Jethro... I can call you Jethro, can't I?"

Gibbs eyed her for a moment then said, "You can, but you may not."

Tim snickered at that, remembering him explaining the difference between "may" and "can" to Ziva. Maggie gave him a hot look, which he ignored.

"So I can call you Jethro but ... I don't get it."

Gibbs spent the next few minutes explaining the grammatical difference between the two words to her, leaving her glassy-eyed.

Something pinged and Tim announced, "Well, that's got it. The partitioning is done; now all I have to do is set up the back-up procedure and check the malware blocker is up to date. Excuse me." He got up and returned to the computers.

Gibbs wandered to the coffee pot. "More coffee?"

"No, thanks." Tim barely looked up.

"Miz Adams?" Gibbs was fairly sure she didn't want the coffee she had, but he'd asked to be polite.

"No." Maggie was obviously in a sulk, which amused both men.

Gibbs emptied out the last few drops of coffee and busied himself with tidying the coffee station and washing the pot, filter basket, and holder. He easily disassembled the mechanism and fiddled around with soap and a dish cloth. He was just reassembling the brew chamber when Tim announced, "And ... done." He closed both laptops with soft clicks, disconnected all his cables, and tucked his things away in his bag. "I'll leave you to put your computer away yourself. I know how particular we can be." He easily clamped his zippers together with the security seals he always used now. He'd gotten a specialized set from Yorktown and kept his bag sealed when he wasn't using it. It wasn't as paranoid as you might think, as security here at NCIS had FUBAR'ed his computer twice before he'd started sealing it.

"I'll just be a sec." Maggie decided that one last try was worth her time. "Would either of you like a midnight snack?"

Gibbs smirked at Tim. Tim replied, "Great idea. Gibbs?"

"On me. Let's go."

Maggie nearly snarled with frustration as the two men ignored her and headed out the door.

They actually managed to make it into the elevator before both of them cracked up. After they stopped laughing Gibbs announced, "Better actually pick up something and make sure that AJ eats."

Tim nodded. "You ought to give him a massage. I bet his shoulders are like rocks."

That was one of the skills that everyone was a bit surprised that Gibbs had. It seemed that he was a very skilled masseur.

They got into Gibbs' truck to head out, but Tim heard an odd crackling sound. "Wait a sec; I sat on something." He rummaged around and found a dark envelope on the seat. "Huh!? That's odd. This yours?"

Gibbs eyed the envelope for a second then said, "Probably junk mail I forgot about. Toss it."

Tim shoved it into the Wal-Mart sack behind the seat and forgot it.

.

Tony sighed; he was still a bit hungry, but not enough to get up and fix something. There weren't any leftovers, as Jimmy was really good at making just enough. He knew that there were some portions of the shepherd's pie left, but they were for tomorrow's lunch.

"You okay?" Jimmy raised his head a bit so he could see Tony.

"Yeah, just ... still hungry. Not starving, but I could use a snack."

From the doorway Tim announced, "And we come bearing ... snacks." He plopped the bag on the coffee table. "Chinese dim sum takeout." He started taking the various containers out of the bag and opening them. "Let me see. We've got three kinds of pot stickers: chicken, pork, and shrimp. Steamed and fried. Crab rangoon. Dumplings, again, three kinds. But steamed. And ..." he opened a container. "Fortune cookies? Whatever." He opened several more containers to reveal Wu Gok, spring rolls in shrimp and veggie, Har Gau and several custard tarts. "There. And there's enough for everyone to have two of everything. Tony! No snatching the tarts first." Tim smacked Tony's hand. "Wait."

Tony turned drama queen, nursing his hand to his chest and pouting.

Tim snickered, "Man, what are you? Three?"

"I'll have you know that I'm four and three-quarters." Tony gave up his pout with a laugh.

Gibbs ambled in with the fancy bamboo trays that Ducky liked for Dim Sum and handed them out. He poured sauces into tiny dishes, then settled back.

Tony moaned at the delicious smells. "Yum. Thanks, guys." He started loading his plate.

Jimmy had to snicker. Tony was the only one of them using a fork. "Never mastered chopsticks?"

"Nope. I gave up years ago. I just can't manage." Tony was philosophical about that. "I tried and tried."

Tim snorted, "This from the man who can play the Minute Waltz in 46 seconds."

"Different skill set, man." Tony waved that away as he stuffed another bun into his mouth.

They ate and chatted, covering subjects that ranged from guns and ammo to IT problems to the latest forensic discoveries. When the last scrap was gone, Ducky got up and started picking up the plates. Jimmy got up too, saying, "Here, let me do that."

Ducky took a bit of exception to that and demanded, "And what am I supposed to do? I'm not helpless, you know."

Jimmy just shrugged. "I assumed that you'd get the trash since I hate touching sticky stuff."

Ducky deflated. "Oh. Well. Very well."

Tim just stayed out of it, happily left out of the chores, he thought. Gibbs motioned to him. "Come with me. I want to set up that massage table, but it takes two people." Tim obediently trotted after his friend.

It didn't take them long to get the table set up in the guest bedroom. Tim agreed that he and Jimmy would take it down in the morning.

Gibbs didn't bother to try to persuade Tony, he just crooked a finger in a well-known 'come here' gesture and chivvied Tony into the room and onto the table. Tony was so tired that he didn't protest; he didn't have the energy.

Gibbs gave him a visual once-over as he stripped down to his boxers. He was a bit thin ―they had trouble keeping weight on him― but other than that he looked good. "Need to eat more; you're getting skinny again."

Tony mumbled into the hole in the table, "Pot."

"I'm not skin and bones like you. I just lost the love handles." Gibbs reminded himself to get on the scale and take a good look at himself in a full-length mirror.

Tony tried to relax, he really did, but Gibbs grumbled, "AJ. Fuckin' relax already. You're hard as rock."

"Tryin', Jet. Really." Tony closed his eyes and forced himself to think about what Gibbs was doing, rather than all the things his brain was switching between.

Gibbs carefully found every knot in Tony's back, worked them out ruthlessly, then told him. "Stay relaxed, get into bed, and actually sleep."

Tony whimpered a bit as he eased off the table. "Boss, you know I don't sleep much."

"I know. But you're getting five or six hours from now until the concert, if I have to cold-cock you."

"Okay, okay. Grouch."

Tony just fell into bed in his boxers and was asleep almost at once.

Gibbs shut his door, then went to consult with Jimmy and Ducky.

He nearly ran Jimmy over. "Damnit. Palmer, seriously stalkerish."

"Sorry. Sorry. Just ... we need to have a word."

Gibbs grinned. "About all I've got this late at night."

Jimmy chuckled as he led Gibbs to Ducky's suite. He had the master suite in the old townhouse, which meant he had a small sitting room, bedroom and full bath all to himself. He'd managed to get a comfortable loveseat, a chair, lamp table, and footstool into the room. Jimmy sprawled across the small rug in front of the fireplace, allowing Gibbs the loveseat.

"Okay. What?"

Ducky frowned for a moment, then asked, "Do you have any idea why Anthony avoids sleeping aids?"

"Mother was addicted to them. Combined with gin." Gibbs grimaced. "Nasty."

"I see. I was so hoping that he'd take just a little something to help him sleep. He's going to make himself ill."

Jimmy yawned. "I offered him tea, but he won't take that either."

Gibbs shook his head. "Caffeine in tea. Not that that's much of a problem."

Jimmy rolled his head back and forth on the rug. "Not that kind of tea. I make up an herbal blend that'll knock out a buffalo. He didn't like the smell." He chuckled a bit. "Granted it smells like wet hay and tastes like boiled grass. But it will work."

Ducky frowned for a moment. "Perhaps if we just present it as ... take it or else?"

Gibbs nodded. "Jimmy, you make it. I'll come over an' make sure he drinks it."

"Ok, a couple of doses ought to convince him that it's not addictive and he won't wake up with a hangover."

"Well done, Jimmy. Thank you." Ducky got up. "Jethro, I'll see you out."

Gibbs took the hint as did Jimmy. "'Night, Gremlin."

"'Night, Jet."

Ducky walked Gibbs to the door. He knew Gibbs was perfectly capable of getting out of the house by himself, but his old-fashioned upbringing forbade him to just leave him on his own. Besides that, he wanted to check the doors before he retired. Habit.

Gibbs patted Ducky on the shoulder. "'Night, Ducky."

"Good evening, Jethro. See you in the morning." 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The next few days were interesting.

A case came up, but it was one of those in-and-out things where Gibbs listened to all the witnesses, pointed a finger, and said, "Him."

The interesting things were, as Remy said, "Case-adjacent."

The day after his meeting with Margaret Adams, Tim looked up from his monitor to see Maggie standing next to the elevators. She winked at him just as the doors opened. He grimaced and returned to his work.

Tony accepted Jimmy's tea, after Gibbs threatened to knock him out again. He found the flavor to be ... disgusting, at best. He also found that he had gotten a good six hours the last three nights. He intended to keep drinking it as long as he needed the extra sleep.

Remy and Dean both seemed to be spending a lot of their time with their phones and making faces at them.

Tony got an email from someone who claimed to be his father's assistant, but he didn't recognize the name. He had Tim check it out and found that it was real; but, by the time they answered it, the address was invalid. Tim apologized, but Tony just shrugged and said, "He disowned me when I was twelve. I paid my way myself from the time I graduated from RIMA, at sixteen. Fuck 'im."

Gibbs, now aware that Tony didn't talk about his rich father for the same reason Tim didn't talk about his Admiral father, just notified the switchboard that any call from Anthony Dominic DiNozzo, Sr. was to be routed to him and forgot about it.

The SecNav and SecDef sent notifications to the proper people that they would be at a special concert. The security at The Strathmore Center just doubled.

NCIS Director Vance knew his wife expected to attend the concert, so he kept two tickets, up front, center. She was excited, as she loved classic music. He just hoped he didn't snore.

.

Tony kept to the schedule he had set up, with help from both Ducky and Jimmy, as well as his team. He knew he tended to obsess about things, and he was worried about embarrassing himself. Jimmy made sure he ate, Ducky made sure he went to bed at a decent hour, for him. The rest of the team, including Tim and Gibbs, took care of exercising and relaxing. Tim even introduced him to a game he was fond of.

But he was focused on practicing. He spent an hour in the morning before he went in to work and four hours at night; two two-hour sessions broken by however long it took to eat supper. He usually managed to be in bed, asleep, by midnight.

They had three cases in that time, none of which were much effort. Tony leaned on a midshipman who was smuggling pills and made him cry. Gibbs snorted in irritation and turned him over to the MP's for transport off the ship.

Tim solved the next case by cracking an 'uncrackable' laptop security system. The Chief Petty Officer who'd installed it on his computer was threatening to sue the security company as they hauled him off to jail. Tim just shook his head, saying, "Nothing is uncrackable if you have a big enough hammer."

Remy had allowed, "Yo, an' you a big, big hammer, my frien'."

The last case was one of those sad, love-triangle murders that everyone hated. The wife of a captain was being courted by the next-door neighbor. The wife didn't want anything to do with the man and told him so. He flipped his lid and stabbed her thirty-four times, leaving her on the kitchen floor for her twelve-year-old son to find. Needless to say, Gibbs went a bit mental, along with Tony and Abby. Tim and Jimmy were more numb than anything. It took them two days to figure it out, and three hours to crack the man like the nut he was. Tony spent his practice time that evening pounding the Bösendorpher, as he was pretty sure the Steinway wouldn't survive his temper fit. Ducky finally dragged him into the kitchen, where Jimmy made tea for all of them.

Tony settled at the table and put one elbow on it, rested his cheek on his fist and sighed. "Man, I'm tired. I swear I'd rather be prepping for an op."

Ducky took his cup from Jimmy. "That's because you're working yourself into a state. What's the worst that could happen?"

Tony opened his mouth, realized that the question wasn't the usually bad-luck rhetorical question and actually thought about it. "Well. I could screw up so bad that no one will donate?"

Jimmy shook his head. "No, you couldn't. Those people will donate, no matter how bad you are. They want an opportunity to one-up each other and show off their clothing. So ... frankly ... get over yourself."

Tim added, "And they'll all donate big because it's for kids."

Ducky added his two-cents worth. "And you are very, very good, my boy. You play well, with heart and spirit. You could actually make a living on the circuit. Now ... go to bed. Get up in the morning and skip your practice, go for a longer run instead. Shoo. Both of you." He got up and started gathering the cups. "Jimmy, see that he goes to bed. Tim, you can help me."

Tim cheerfully picked up the tray, saying, "Duck, go with them. I've got this, and you know damn good and well that AJ won't listen to Jimmy."

Ducky agreed and ambled after the other two men, arriving at Tony's room just in time to hear him start to argue with Jimmy. "Look, man, I'm okay. I'm just going to answer a few emails; I'm so far behind I'm biting myself in the small of the back."

Ducky shook his head. "Anthony, in bed, now. You'll fall asleep at your desk, just like you did last night, and I'm too old to wrestle you into bed by myself. And Jimmy and Tim don't deserve to put up with your nasty habit of swinging first and then asking who it is." He put on a stern face, pointed at the bed and said, "Bed. Now."

Tony, knowing that he was, as Ducky said, fretting himself to flinders, went to bed. He pulled the sheet and comforter up over his head and huddled down. He was asleep before he knew it. He didn't even realize that Ducky sat up with him until he was sure Tony wasn't going to wake up with the horrors.

Tim checked once, while Jimmy didn't bother. He did check on Ducky as soon as he was relatively sure the older man was in bed. He was, however, not asleep.

"Jimmy, come in a moment." Ducky sat up, tucking a pillow behind his back.

"Sure. What do you need? You okay?" Jimmy ambled in and sat down in the bedside chair.

"I'm fine. But we must do something about Anthony. He's working himself into a fit. It's not good for him and might affect his ability to play." Ducky frowned at his hands.

Jimmy thought about that. "I know, but what to do?"

"I'm not sure. I suggest that I pull Jethro aside and consult with him. He might have an idea."

"And Remy. They've been buds longer than he's been on Team Gibbs, I think." Jimmy nodded. "Go to sleep. Worry about AJ tomorrow."

Ducky agreed and settled down, dropping his extra pillow on the floor. Jimmy picked it up and put it in the cubby under the nightstand, where Ducky usually kept it. He shut the bedroom door on his way out, as Ducky preferred, and went to his own bed, satisfied that they'd conspired to keep Tony from wearing himself out.

The next morning Ducky took Remy aside, while Jimmy snagged Gibbs. They explained their scheme to keep him just distracted enough and asked their help. Both men agreed at once, and offered to clue the rest of the pod in on the sly. Jimmy offered to call Abby.

Bringing Abby in as the big gun was approved by everyone. They all knew that Tony would do almost anything for her, including go to clubs that left him with a raging migraine. When Abby had realized that her choice of music actually caused Tony pain, she'd smacked him, exclaiming, "Damn it, AJ, you should have told me." He'd just shrugged.

.

Tony yawned, scratched, and rolled out of bed. He was just about to go to the head when he realized that it was late, for him. He eyed his deactivated alarm clock and muttered, "What the fuck?" It also annoyed him that he hadn't awakened before the alarm. He wondered why he'd slept so late, but decided that, as it was Saturday, it didn't really matter.

After a quick trip to the head, he rummaged for something to wear. He found a hanger on the hook on the back of his closet door with old BDUs and a note, 'Put this on. Come down,' in Gibbs' writing.

"Okay. What the hell is up?" Tony wasn't too worried. They all pranked each other relentlessly, but it was never anything harmful. They didn't even render each other's food inedible. It might require removal of offensive food items, but it was never ruined, despite popular belief around NCIS.

He entered the kitchen to find everyone there, Abby included. "Okay, what the hell?"

Abby grinned. "We're taking you out for an intervention. You're working yourself into a tizzy. You'll choke up if you don't relax."

Tony just gave in without a fight; besides, Abby was busily making his favorite Southern Peach waffles with toasted pecans. He sat down to wait for his food.

Gibbs set a mug of coffee in front of him and a cup with a tablespoon of milk in it in front of Ducky. He put Ducky's personal teapot at his elbow. "There."

Tony eyed the milk in Ducky's cup. "I know you're supposed to add the milk first but ... why?"

Ducky, realizing that Tony didn't mean 'why did he use milk?', began with, "Well, you must realize that china now is a great deal better than it was when people first started drinking tea with milk and sugar."

"Yeah. I remember." Tony nodded, urging Ducky on.

"So, pouring hot tea into delicate china tended to make the cup break. Milk cushions the cup from the sudden heat. You'll notice that many older people will hold the cup in the palm of their hand before they pour. This warms the cup just enough to keep the shock from cracking the cup." Ducky poured his now steeped tea into his cup. "However, modern china isn't so prone to breakage. Nevertheless, people persist. Human nature."

Tony nodded. "Old habits and superstition." He leaned back when Abby patted his shoulder. "Oh, man. Looks really good. Thanks, Abby." He eyed the waffle; it was only about an inch smaller than the plate it was on. It was steaming gently, golden brown, crisp and covered with peach/pecan compote and rimmed with whipped cream; a gentle dusting of nutmeg completed the dish. "Abby. You are my hero." He cut a bite and stuffed it into his mouth. His moan of pleasure made everyone grin.

Abby happily produced more waffles, syrup, butter, fruit compotes, and the whipped cream. She admitted to being lazy with that, so it was from a can. No one really cared.

As she looked around the table, Abby was happy to see that everyone was loading their plates. Gibbs took a double stack: one waffle, covered with butter and syrup, and topped with another. Dean and Cosmo both took apple-pie filling, syrup, and butter. Remy, she was amused to see, took the pineapple/kiwi/mango hash and skipped any kind of syrup. Jimmy and Tim both put loganberry syrup and walnuts on theirs. Ducky took his plain, nothing on it at all. She took hers traditional, like Gibbs, except she only had one.

As the coffee, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and eggs made the rounds, all Abby could do was shake her head. She still couldn't get used to the huge amount of food this group put away. "You're all going to get so fat. Seriously. Where do you put it?"

Tony blinked for a moment. "In my stomach?"

Abby eyed him fondly. "Idiot. I mean ... how do you not get fat?"

Gibbs shrugged but refrained from speaking with a mouthful of waffle.

Dean swallowed, cleared his throat with a gulp of boiling coffee, then said, "Run about twenty miles a week. Do three double sessions of strength training, forty-five minutes of tai chi, same of yoga twice a week, and swim eight to ten miles. That's weights Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Yoga and tai chi, Tuesday and Thursday. Swim on Saturday, and we run to and from the gym every day. So ... we're more likely to lose weight than gain it."

Abby blinked at him for a moment then said softly, "Holy macaroni."

Remy nodded. "'Bout right. An' we need every second of it. If we get called, sometimes there's no time to train up. We're the go-to guys if the shit hits the fan."

Abby made a soft hum of understanding then brightened. "Okay, who wants more coffee?"

Everyone at the table, except Jimmy and Ducky, raised their mugs.

Breakfast was finished along with easy conversation and some laugher. Tony kept making faces at Abby, which Abby firmly ignored. He finally caught her off-guard, and she giggled. "AJ, your face is going to stick that way."

"Won't."

Remy nodded. "Will. An' then you'll really have a hard time aimin'."

Gibbs stood up; picking up his plate, he headed for the sink. "Come on. I think we need to break things up a bit."

Dean shrugged. "Okay, no swim?"

"Yeah, swim. But I think an extra yoga session is in order. One of those Iyengar ones. AJ's as tense as a whore in church."

Tony just helped clear the table, keeping his comments to himself for now.

They all retired to the back yard, Dean and Jimmy noted that it needed some work, but it would have to wait until warm weather; it was too cold now to disturb the plants.

The group formed up, making sure that there was enough room by extending their arms, then twisting at the waist; if anyone touched anyone else, they moved until no one would accidentally smack anyone else.

They jostled and shoved a bit, messing around. Tony bumped Jimmy. Jimmy poked him. 'Hey! Watch your big feet."

Tony poked him back. "I'm tryin'. If Dean would watch himself, we'd be okay."

Dean retaliated. "Jerk. Not my fault you're half-blind."

Remy dragged Dean off Tony. "Leave AJ alone. You're a clumsy ox."

Cosmo had to protect his bud, which he did by tickling Remy, making him yelp. "Hey! Hands ... hands where I don't want them."

Gibbs whistled shrilly. "Ok, DADT was repealed, but still. Get organized or I'll organize you." Everyone scrambled for position.

Ducky waited until all that foolishness was over, then joined them. He had done yoga in his younger days and now found that he felt better if he did a short session every day. He also did the tai chi, although he dropped out at twenty-four forms.

They got organized and, to no one's surprise, Tim led. It turned out that he had a talent for yoga. He not only completed the asanas himself, but had an eye for improper forms. He was quick to catch and correct anything that could lead to an injury. "AJ, you're sticking your butt out."

Tony tucked his hips back into line.

The switch between Tim and yoga and Tony and tai chi was quick and easy.

There was a bit of laughter as Tony led the first form. Tony called the names as he led them through the forms, and the first form was "Grasp the Bird's Tail Left," which always made Jimmy snicker. That made Remy laugh, and they always took a few seconds to settle again. No one called them out on it, as it was supposed to be relaxing.

Tony watched Ducky carefully, but he dropped out at "Flying at a Slant," as "Drop Back to Monkey Left" was a good stopping place for him. He did a few cool-down stretches, then went inside to make tea.

They completed the one hundred and eight forms of the long routine, and that was when Gibbs dropped the bomb on them. "Ashtanga next."

The vigorous, fast-paced style built flexibility, strength, concentration, and stamina and was a perfect way to end a long session. But everyone bitched and moaned anyway.

They also laughed, taunted each other, and in general had fun. Gibbs called the asanas as he led them through the set. His pronunciation of the asanas was a bit off here and there, but he did a creditable job; no one was really sure how he knew the Sanskrit names, but he did. By the time Gibbs called Shavasana, they were all sweating and ready for a rest.

Ducky watched through the window until he was sure they were ready, then called, "Tea. Come along now."

The whole pod scrambled for the door. Ducky insisted on serving tea piping hot and would pour the whole pot down the sink if he thought it was stewed. That meant they had to wait for the muffins until the new pot was ready.

Tony flopped down at the foot of the table. "Man, never realize how hungry all that sissy stuff makes a person until you start doing it."

Ducky was well aware that Tony would never actually think that, so he started a story. "That reminds me of the time I was in Paris on ... well, classified stuff. I was undercover as physician to the Paris Ballet, keeping an eye on some Russians. Well, it seems that some construction worker took exception to the whole of the company and made some nasty remarks about fags and so on. One of the corps de ballet challenged him to keep up with rehearsals." Everyone snickered at that. "Exactly. He lasted about four minutes."

Tony sipped his tea then asked, "What got him?"

"Oh, the part where a man who weighs in at about one-seventy lifts a woman who weighs one-oh-five over his head three or four times, does a series of chaises, or turns, then stag-leaps across the stage. Then repeats it a dozen times while someone with a vocabulary to rival Jethro's screams at them ... in a mixture of Russian and French." Ducky smiled in remembrance while the others just groaned at the thought.

Dean shook his head. "Ouch. That's quite a workout. Seriously. I actually like ballet. Pretty girls in skimpy costumes, interesting story line, good music. What's not to like?"

Cosmo disagreed. "Not my cup of tea. Really. Weird story lines, crazy makeup, and the music is ... tired. Heard most of it a dozen times and didn't like it the first time. I'm more a rock n' roll guy."

They discussed ballet through the rest of the tea, then headed out for the pool. Ducky smiled and shooed them off, saying he'd clean the kitchen himself.

He watched as the group got themselves together and headed out, all seven of them cramming into Tony's huge Humvee. He'd finally broken down and gotten a decommissioned Marine HMMWV unit. He'd used some of his hazard pay to have it remodeled into a daily driver. The vehicle held eight easily, due to a bit of fiddling with the frame, and still had room for nearly a ton of gear. He'd had a lock installed on the rear compartment, which kept all their gear out of sight and safe. The one time someone had tried to break into it, the screaming alarm had scared him so badly that he'd left a nasty puddle near the back door. The alarming thing about it was, it still had the turret and machine gun mounts as well as M-16 rifle mounts and full ballistic protection; in other words, armor.

Since one of the things that had been done to the Humvee was to strip out most of the electronic gear, there was room for a center console in the front. The next set of seats were bucket seats as well, with another console. The third seat was a bench that was rated for four. But trying to get four broad-shouldered men in it was looking for a fight; three were comfortably cozy. This led to a squabble over who would ride shotgun and who would sit third seat. Tony had considered adding a drop-down behind that but decided against it as being one, too dangerous, and, two, taking up needed cargo space.

This time Jimmy came to the rescue. He produced a coffee can that rattled oddly. Sounding like a carnival barker he chanted, "Ok. Roll up, roll up. Draw a chip, find your seat. Each chip has a denomination stamped on it and a number on the back. Shot-gun is the hundred dollar chip. Second seats are the fifty-dollar chip, one, behind the driver, two, passenger side. Five-dollar chips are third seat, one, two, and three." He rattled the can, then waited as everyone drew a chip, leaving him the last one. He did a little dance as he realized he had the high chip.

There was a minimum of grumbling as everyone found their seats. They passed the chips back to the front, where Jimmy dropped them back in the can and put the top on it. He tucked it into the center console, remarking, "I was afraid that it would take up too much room, but this console is ... huge."

Tony cheerfully announced, "Wait until you see the cargo space. It's so big that a Mafia Don would spaz out."

Gibbs, who'd taken all the gym bags and tossed them in it, laughed. "It is huge. I swear we could all fit in it."

They continued to chat about the Hummer until they reached the gym.

When they reached the gym, Tony parked down at the bottom of the lot. He wasn't too worried about the paint job, as it was matte black baked-on scratch-proof. But he didn't want to crowd the other patrons; the Hummer was nearly twice as wide as a pickup and took up three-quarters of two parking places.

They thundered into the gym in a mass of milling bodies and shoving. Remy picked Tony up and carried him, fireman style, several feet. The second they hit the sign-in desk, though, they were suddenly all business, lining up and waiting silently until it was their turn. They took their key cards politely and filed into the locker room. Gibbs smirked at the manager, who just nodded to him and went back into his office.

They did try to keep things down to a dull roar; even if it was a gym, some people were a bit put off by several large, male bodies milling around like a football scrimmage. Others were totally scared. They tried to keep things low-key in the lobby for that reason.

They were a bit subdued in the locker room, only so they didn't get tossed out.

Tony let the way into the Olympic pool area and took lane one; everyone just took a lane in the order they'd left the locker room. This meant that they'd effectively claimed the pool.

After they were all lined up, Tony just barked, "Twenty! Swim!" Everyone groaned a bit, but obediently dove in and began to swim their laps.

They weren't quite finished when a woman started yelling at them.

Tony climbed out of the pool to see what her problem was. He was confronted by the epitome of a soccer mom, only the son was a swimmer.

"How can you take up all the lanes? Don't you know that it's rude? Jeffy needs to work out and practice that new stroke coach wants them to know. Grown men ... really."

She was winding up for another stab at her rant when the kid tugged at her arm. "Mom. You're making a scene. Really. How are they supposed to know that I want to practice? And there's still two lanes open. Just ... sit down and relax." His flushed face made Tony wince slightly.

Mom tossed a bag down next to a folding chair, mumbling, "Well, it's not like their life depends on it. Your career does."

Tony started to walk away then decided that the poor kid needed a bit of a wake-up. Not to mention that his Mom needed her nose rubbed in it.

He turned and said, "Well, actually, my life might depend on my endurance. I'm a SEAL, as are the men in lanes two, six and seven. Lane three and four are NCIS. I will admit that lane five is only a physician who works with us."

The woman's mouth dropped open. Tony continued, "That leaves lanes eight, nine and ten for Jeff to choose from. And don't tell me he prefers a certain lane; he's not going to get a choice in a meet, so he might as well get used to swimming in any lane."

Gibbs noticed that Tony was out of the pool, so he got out too, just to see what was wrong.

"AJ? You okay?"

"Yeah. Didn't you hear her..." he pointed. "screeching?"

"No. Don't tend to listen to much of anything while I'm swimmin'." Gibbs eyed the flushed faces, then added, "Problem?"

"No. I think I took care of it." Tony's glower at Mom said he had.

"Well."

Tony eyed the woman. "LtCmd. Anthony Dominic DiNozzo." He raised an eyebrow.

Jeff, having better manners than his mother, replied, "Jeffry Williams. This is my mother, Patricia. Pleased to meet you." He took a breath. "Sorry about all this. She's ... mom. I'm stressed because I'm supposed to learn the combat crawl. There's some discussion of making it a competition stroke. I'm just not getting it."

Tony blinked. "Combat crawl? What part don't you get?"

"The timing. I keep getting a nose full of water."

Gibbs considered for a moment. "You left-handed?"

"Yeah. Why?" Jeff had always had trouble because of that, including a teacher in fourth grade who'd tried to change him over to right-handed. His mother had, properly, put a stop to that the second he'd told her.

"If you're left-handed, you should be leading with your left hand, not your right. Your natural instinct is to lead with your dominant hand. So, take lane eight and give that a try. If that doesn't clear up the problem, let me know. Or AJ." Gibbs smiled at the boy, nodded absently to Patricia then hit the water in a flat dive and went back to his laps.

Tony did the same, entering the water without a splash.

Patricia took the opportunity to think about some things. It didn't do much good, only annoying her and making her feel belittled, but she kept her mouth shut as she realized that she'd embarrassed her son. She watched as he made progress with his new stroke and took notes to discuss with him later. She was determined that he was going to get into college on a scholarship. And go to the Olympics. She didn't realize that he didn't care one way or the other and was only doing this to please her.

Tony and Gibbs both kept an eye on the boy, making sure that he didn't hurt himself. They were pleased to see that he was doing well.

They finally finished their laps, and all climbed out of the pool, along with Jeff. Jimmy passed out towels and water. "Hello. who are you?" He handed Jeff a bottle. "Drink. You might not realize how much fluid you've lost."

Jeff took the water, downed about a third then said, "Thanks. Really appreciate it. Mom brings some sort of nasty sports shit. Tastes like rat piss."

"It's good for you and watch your language." Patricia handed Jeff a bottle of drink. He obediently took it but managed to pass it off to a hand without her noticing.

Dean took the bottle and tried a curious sip. He struggled to swallow it, shuddered then stashed the crap in his towel. "That shit is seriously fucked up."

Patricia gave him a look. "And what's wrong with it?"

Jimmy just snagged the stuff and tried it himself. "It's too strong, for one. And for another, it's disgusting. Try just green tea. It's better for you. Most sports drinks have either too much sugar or artificial sweeteners. Those are really not good for you. Kidney trouble, liver, you name it. Look it up." He eyed the water Jeff was still holding. "Drink the rest of that."

"Ok. Thanks." Jeff obediently downed the rest of the bottle.

Patricia took this opportunity to pick at Tony. "Mister, really. You shouldn't swim with a shirt on. It causes drag and ... are you body-shy?"

Tony got that look, the one that made Remy say, "Oh , l'enfer , ici nous allons." He just shrugged. "I'm not that body-shy. I mostly wear a shirt all the time to keep other people from being upset, but ..."

He started to take his shirt off but Cosmo said, "Oh, no, AJ, just no. I'm not cleaning up after her. An' you don't wanna upset the kid." He immediately jumped Tony and tossed him into the pool.

Jeff had gotten a decent look through Tony's near transparent t-shirt and was very sure he didn't want a good one. "Mom, leave it. Really, you're seriously embarrassing me now. He's a grown man, and I'm sure he knows more about drag than I do. And, he's a SEAL. who knows what sort of weird military regulation there is about what he's supposed to wear because of his rank."

Patricia wasn't stupid, no matter what anyone thought, so she shut up. "Well, whatever. You get back in that pool and practice."

Jeff thanked Gibbs and Tony for their help, and Jimmy for the water, and got back into the pool. Gibbs watched him for a moment, then, satisfied that he was doing much better, followed the group into the lockers, giving Patricia a patented Gibbs-glare on his way.

They were getting ready to leave when Jimmy suddenly began to laugh.

Dean, ready for any sort of distraction, demanded to know what was so funny.

Jimmy nodded at three men who were leaving. "In a sec." The door closed behind the men. "Okay ... I just over heard this really good joke." He looked around, realized that they were waiting and continued, "Well ... this fox was crouched by the side of a road, eating his dinner, when a truck and pup went by. He'd left his tail out in the road just a bit and the truck ran over the very tip of it. This pissed him off and he turned around real quick to see who was messing with him and the truck ran over his head and killed him."

There was a bit of moaning and groaning as they all waited. "The moral of this story? Don't lose your head over a little piece of tail." Jimmy ducked the barrage of rolled-up socks, wet towels, and other soft missiles, laughing like a loon. He grabbed his bag and made a run for it. He got all the way into the hall before Dean and Gibbs caught him. "No! Nonono. I give. I surrender." He had to stop talking, as Dean had him flat on his back. Gibbs had grabbed his feet and was tickling him mercilessly. All he could do was laugh.

Tony ambled out the door. "You better stop before he pukes."

Everyone agreed that that would not endear them to the help, so they sorted their stuff, jammed it into their bags, and headed for home.

.

After that day Tony was a great deal more relaxed about the concert. He'd gotten his program settled; Ducky had agreed that it was perfect. Jimmy had agreed to come backstage and make sure the piano was properly tuned. And the date of the first full rehearsal was set.

Two weeks before the concert, Blake Spencer called.

"DiNozzo." Tony leaned back in his chair. He didn't recognize the number, so he was professional.

"Mr. ... er ... Do you prefer LtCmd., Special Agent, or Mr.?"

Tony sighed. "Who is this, please?"

"Oh, damn, I'm sorry. This is Blake Spencer. I'm calling to get confirmation that Saturday at 2 PM will be convenient for your first run-through."

Tony blinked at the skylight for a moment while he tried to sort this out. "Just a moment." He put Spencer on hold. "Boss? We on call this weekend?"

Gibbs clicked something, eyed his monitor then said, "No. Why?"

"Spencer guy wants me to do the first run-through Saturday." Tony reconnected with Blake. "Mr Spencer. I can do that. At ... 1400 Saturday."

"Um ... that's military for two in the afternoon, right?" Blake wasn't about to make any mistakes with this.

"Yes. that's right. I'll be bringing a couple of friends. That's okay, right?" Tony wasn't about to try to leave Remy behind. He wasn't as nuts as he'd been right after the crash, but he was still twitchy.

"That's fine. I understand that your team will all be there. It's fine. I'm sure you'll want to take a look backstage and at the dressing rooms. You'll be the only one there, so there's no reason for us to restrict access. I'll leave that up to you and your people." Blake was used to dealing with rock groups and other eccentric people, so the idea that Tony would have an entourage didn't bother him in the least.

Tony snickered. "You do realize that you'll be dealing with a Marine Scout Sniper who is qualified to deal with Presidential-level security, and three Navy SEALs, as well as two other NCIS agents, right?"

Blake shrugged that off; if he could deal with a rapper who had Hell's Angels as security, this was a doodle. "Not a problem. If you need something, just ask. We'll deal. So. Saturday at ... what did you say? Fourteen hundred?"

"Yes. that's fine. See you then." Tony hung up and sighed "Well, that went ... well. Gibbs?"

"Heard the whole thing." Gibbs nodded. "We got your six."

Remy nodded from the guest desk. "We do. We'll even dress up in monkey suits if you like."

Tony grumbled. "Belt got back to me. Mess Dress, full metal panic. Seriously? I'll clank like a junk wagon. Why can't I wear mini?"

Dean shook his head. "Because we can't see them from the audience. You have to wear the 'best identifiable' style." He leaned back over Tim's shoulder, where they were busy checking out the floor plan of the Strathmore.

No one was too worried about security, but both SecNav and SecDef were going to be in the audience, along with their security forces. The combined group could provide security for POTUS himself, but a good look wouldn't hurt.

Tony allowed, "While I'm doing sound checks and whatnot, you could give the layout a looksee. I'm also going to do a complete run-through; that ought to give you enough time to check everything out thoroughly."

"Good idea." Gibbs sent a text to someone, then put his phone away and turned back to his monitor. "Take a look at this CPO's financials. Something stinks in Denmark."

Tony settled in to try to figure out how a CPO managed to buy the platinum chain he'd been wearing when he was fished out of a bay on the Potomac.

They still had no intel at the end of the day when Gibbs told them all to go home and get some rest.

Home for Cosmo, Dean, and Remy was still Gibbs' house, now referred to as Gibbs HQ or simply GHQ. Tony was amazed that the group got along as well as they did. But he knew that they had the same sort of rules that he, Tim, and Jimmy had at Mallard Manor. Ducky was a trip, as Jimmy said, full of stories about his younger days. He had actually been a covert agent in his day. Now, he was, as he said, an old man full of stories. They all loved to listen to him, even Gibbs, when they weren't in the middle of a case.

So home they went.

Before they got out the door, Gibbs stopped Jimmy and Tim. "How's he doing?"

Neither man wondered who he was talking about. Jimmy shrugged. "A bit obsessed, but dealing better. Ducky put his foot down. No practice before workout and no practice after 2000. It seems to be working."

Tim nodded. "He spent most of last night on WoW with me. And he's sleeping a bit more than normal. That tea is working."

Gibbs made a face. Jimmy had sent some over to HQ. It tasted God-awful, but it did work. And none of them woke up with a hangover either. "Good stuff. Tastes like shit, but really works. Thanks for the jar, Gremlin."

"Welcome. I better go. Ducky will be waiting." Jimmy turned to leave only to nearly run Ducky down.

"Mr. Palmer. A bit less enthusiasm if you please." Ducky nodded to Gibbs. "Jethro."

"Duck. Just checkin' up on AJ. You take care of him, hear?" Gibbs knew that Tony tended to obsess, and he was worried that he'd do himself some sort of damage.

"We are. You don't need to fash yourself over him. We've got him on a nice schedule. In fact, you're all scheduled to come over tomorrow night for supper and planning for Saturday. Bring food." Ducky then pinched Jimmy's shirt sleeve between his fingers and tugged him away. "Now, Jimmy, come along. I want my tea."

Jimmy grinned and waved at Gibbs. Tim smirked at him, then followed Ducky and Jimmy.

Tony was waiting for them behind the wheel of the Behemoth, as Ducky had dubbed his Humvee. "I'm hungry, Ducky. What do you want for supper?" It was Tony's night to cook, so he intended to spend the drive home planning. "I need to stop for a few things, so whatever you want."

Ducky thought for a bit then said, "Pasta a la Puttanesca. I do like it; it's quick to make and very tasty."

Jimmy chuckled, "But Whore's pasta? What a name."

Ducky nodded. "Anthony?"

"Not a clue."

"Well, the story is that it is so easy to fix that ladies of the evening used to make it between customers," he chuckled softly. "Of the wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am sort."

Ducky continued to tell stories in the stream-of-consciousness method until they stopped at the store.

Tony thought over his mental list. "Ducky, wine, please. Jimmy, bread. Tim, that special fresh parm-regi from the deli. I'll handle everything else. Ok?"

Ducky just trotted off to the bottle store two doors down, while Jimmy went to the bakers in the other direction. Tim had to trot, as the deli was at the very end of the strip mall. They met back at the Hummer about half an hour later and headed for Mallard Manor.

Tony made the pasta, while Jimmy made garlic bread. Ducky made salad, while Tim opened the wine to let it breathe, and set the table.

Tony sang softly as he cooked, with Jimmy humming along. Ducky admitted that he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but he enjoyed listening.

Tony put the huge platter on the table with a flourish. "There! Pasta a la Puttanesca."

Ducky drew in a deep breath. "Ah! Yes indeed. The wine is a rough but pleasant red. I don't care much for Chianti, too rough for me. This is Alma Rosa 2007, La Encantada Vineyard, Pinot Noir. Very nice." He took a sip. "Yes, very nice."

Tony took time to assess the wine. "You're right. It's really nice. Mangia, mangia." He waved his hands, then dug in himself, taking a huge portion and covering it with parmesano-regiano, then grinding on pepper.

Jimmy pushed the garlic bread in Tony's direction. "Help yourself; there's plenty. Ducky?"

Ducky politely waited until Tim, Jimmy, and Tony had their bread, then took a heel. "You want a heel? Any of you?" All three men shook their heads, as their mouths were full. "Well. I do believe I'll just have both." Neither Tony, Tim, nor Jimmy would dream of depriving Ducky of his favorite part of the loaf.

Tim just moaned, "Man, AJ. I swear, when you opt out of SEALs, if NCIS doesn't work out, you just open an Italian restaurant. You'll clean up."

"In more ways than one. I worked in food service in college. No thanks." Tony grinned, "I'd rather cook for friends; you clean up for me."

Tim laughed. "Okay, okay. I do get it. As to the wine..." He sipped carefully. "I know you learned all that stuff, AJ. But ... I like this wine, but that stuff we had at that last banquet Vance made us attend?" he made a face. "Don't care how much it cost, it wasn't good."

Jimmy shrugged. "I don't like dry wine much at all, unless it's really fruity."

Ducky sighed. "Oh, dear. Here's a bit of advice. Drink what you like. There's a great deal of difference between being a connoisseur and a snob."

Jimmy made a soft inquiring sound around a mouthful of salad.

"Well ... a connoisseur knows his wine but drinks what he likes ... no matter what anyone might think. A snob only drinks the proper wine with each dish, and brags about how much he paid for the bottle, no matter whether he likes it or not, or whether it's good."

Tony chuckled. "I was working in Delmonico New York as a server, years ago. This guy came in, ordered for everyone at the table ... rude as hell. Then he pissed off the sommelier; man screwed him every way there is. Brought expensive wine to the table and offered it. Told him how much the bottle cost before anything else. Most of it was vinegar. I wouldn't have made salad dressing out of it. So ... this guy insults the wife of one of the guests, not exactly sure how. She just got up, asked for her shawl and left. Hubby in tow. Seems she had the money, not him. Then he got the bill and wanted to pick over every line. The manager told him to pay up and get out. Big hoo-ha. So ... just tell the wine steward what you like and let him pick. If you have a budget, let him know."

Tim nodded. "Yeah, and don't let them stick you in a corner ... unless you like that. They're all judgmental asshats."

Tony shrugged. "One way to weed out the hoi-poloi." He finished his glass of wine and poured himself another. "I should practice, but ... I think I'll give it a pass, this once. I'm feeling way too mellow."

Ducky nodded. "That's a very good idea. Tomorrow is your day-before practice. Saturday is first run-through. Relaxing tonight is an excellent idea. What do you want to do?"

Tony shrugged easily. "I think I'll watch a movie. Turn in a bit early, but read until I fall asleep. There's a new ATF monograph on taggants; Abby practically raved about it. I got a copy and I really do need to read it. I'll probably fall asleep about halfway through. But ..." he shrugged, letting the sentence hang.

Jimmy sighed. "What movie?"

"Not sure. You wanna pick?" Tony had realized, early on, that he and Jimmy had the same taste in movies. Tim, not so much. Ducky didn't care; he'd watch anything they wanted, even chick flicks.

Tim suggested, "How about something ... light. Not a musical; you've got music on the brain as it is."

Ducky thought for a moment then asked, "Old Disney?"

Tony sighed. "No, music again. But ... how about ... um ... Maximum Overdrive. I mean, how can you miss with comet-induced homicidal vehicles?"

Tim agreed. "And sound track by AC/DC."

Tony nodded. "Maybe a bit of Metallica?"

Tim shook his head. "AC/DC all the way."

"Mmmm, it's been awhile."

So they cleaned the kitchen, popped corn, and trooped off to the back family room to watch. Tony admitted that the movie was mostly crap, but it was fun, the soundtrack was good, and the story line Steven King. So ... they talked back to the dialogue, threw popcorn at the screen and laughed at the mistakes. All in all, it was a fun and relaxing evening.

Tony went up to bed at about 2100 and lay in bed, reading, until he fell asleep with his book on his chest. He slept until 0600 and woke, well rested. He decided to just plink around for a few moments. He wound up playing the Bösendorfer for over an hour. He played several rags by Scott Joplin then finished with Waterfall; a Jon Schmidt/The Piano Guys original.

Ducky poked his head in the door. "Anthony, go clean up. Breakfast in fifteen."

Tony stretched. "On it, Ducky. Thanks." He ambled off to shower, shave and dress for work.

Breakfast was burritos a la DiNozzo. Tony had taught Tim and Jimmy the recipe, which they could make in about ten minutes. Since the sausage was already cooked up and kept it a container in the fridge, all they had to do was scramble the eggs, fry the mushrooms, onions, and peppers, then put the burritos together. They were now using shredded low-fat cheddar instead of Cheese Whiz, so it took a few seconds to melt and cool the meat and vegetables off enough that they didn't burn their mouths on it.

Tony grabbed his and sighed. "Damn, it'll be cold by the time I get to eat it. I have to drive."

Ducky, who wouldn't eat in a vehicle, finished his food in a couple of big bites then announced, "I'll be pleased to drive. It's standard?"

"Yeah. I had them put a heavy duty ten-speed in it. You manage that?" Tony wasn't that sure about Ducky driving the Hummer, but he was hungry and didn't like cold burritos.

"I'm sure I'll manage. Come along." Ducky took the keys from their hook and led the way.

The drive was interesting, in that Ducky drove better than Ziva, but not by much.

When Ducky was finished parking, Tony took the keys and asked, "Ducky, you take driving lessons from David? Christ on a crutch."

Ducky just smirked and ambled toward the door. "No, I actually taught her a few things. I learned to drive a truck from a Turk."

Tim just shuddered. "Man. Never let him drive again."

Jimmy just snickered. "You've never ridden with him in that Morgan, have you. One of the reasons he lets me drive is he makes me carsick." This was saying something, as Jimmy admitted to having an iron stomach. He didn't get seasick like Tim, so saying Ducky made him carsick was saying something.

Ducky, meanwhile, was laughing to himself; he didn't drive much anymore, as his sight wasn't that good. But it was a bright day, the roads were dry, and his eyes were cooperating. He'd enjoyed his drive very much.

Gibbs had watched Ducky park the Hummer and laughed when the other men scrambled out. He'd had a dose of Ducky's driving in Paris, years ago, and wouldn't ride with the other man if he could get out of it.

He noticed that, despite the ride, Tony looked good; rested and smiling.

They were at their desks, ready to work when Vance came down. He nodded to Gibbs, then said, "If you need to leave early, do so, unless you have a case. This concert is turning out to be a sold-out event. If you need time, let me know." he turned around and left before anyone could say anything.

Tony shrugged. "Ok, that was ... weird. Remy?"

Remy looked up from the book he was reading. "Not a clue. Dean?"

Dean was harassing Tim in a good-natured way. They turned out to play the same on-line games and tended to critique each other's gameplay when Tim wasn't working on a case. He looked up from some sort of spreadsheet to say. "Me? No idea."

Cosmo wasn't there this morning, as he had been called down to Yorktown, so they agreed that Vance was trying to be supportive in his own special way.

They worked on their current case until noon; then Gibbs sent Remy out for sandwiches and drinks. He handed him twenty dollars for his food and made sure that everyone anted up.

Remy nodded, took everyone's order, and left to get their meal.

While he was gone, Tony's personal phone rang. "DiNozzo." He listened then said, "Yes, sir. I'll tell him. He usually doesn't turn his phone off, so I'll have McGee take a look at it." A moment later he said, "Digimon," then hung up.

McGee looked up at the mention of both his surname and his war name. "What's up?"

"Take a look at Dean's phone. Cosmo has been trying to call him for thirty minutes."

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and frowned at it. "Well, shit. It's off."

Tim caught the phone when Dean tossed it to him. "I'll give it a quick checkup. You use my desk phone and call Cos before he has a spasm or something." He pried the back off the phone as he turned to the back of his cube. Dean picked up the phone from the front of the desk so he wouldn't crowd Tim.

It didn't take him long to get connected. "Cos. Yeah, piece a' shit shut off again." He paused to listen. "Ok, as soon as Tim figures out what the hell's with my phone." He hung up and announced, "Needed down at Yorktown. Need to leave ASAP. Tim?"

Tim looked up from his fiddling. "Battery's bad. I'll get a new one, five minutes." He took off for wherever it was he got things from.

He was back in the five he promised, stuck the new battery in Dean's phone, and tossed it to him. "Here. If that doesn't fix it, get a new one."

Dean gave Tim a sloppy salute and headed out. Who knew what Yorktown wanted now? They'd been lucky and not caught a mission that required their specialties for a bit. He was wondering if that was about to change. He'd find out when he found out, the military being what it was; it was mostly hurry up and wait. So he hurried down to Yorktown, then waited to find out who wanted them for what.

It turned out that Dean and Cosmo were wanted to help plan a mission for another SEAL team and would be gone, dossing down at Yorktown until the mission was done.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Friday evening came much more quickly than Tony expected. He was home in the blink of an eye, with the rest of the pod hard on his heels. He felt bad about Dean and Cosmo missing out, but that was the way it was.

Gibbs showed up first, with a pan of something that he put into the oven at once. Then Abby came, with a huge pot that went on the stove and began issuing delicious smells within minutes. Remy ambled in with several loaves of bread in his arms and immediately started slicing it for the ever-present garlic bread.

Jimmy, Tim and Tony had made a dish each. Tony had made lasagna the day before, and it was now in the oven, baking. Tim made apple pies of all things, from scratch, even the crust. Jimmy made salad, but he went all-out with Cobb salad instead of the more mundane Cesar.

Ducky provided wine and set the table.

Gibbs called them all to order. "Ok, you animals, it's ready."

They gathered at the table, settling in at their places to eat the great meal provided via mutual efforts.

Abby happily began dishing out her stew. She'd made what she called Simple Fish Stew. It was her own creation. Everyone loved it and wanted the recipe; she said she'd leave it to them in her will. Tony even tried pouting, which didn't work.

"Abby, recipe, please." Tony gave her his best puppy-dog eyes, batting his eyelashes and sticking out his lower lip.

Abby snorted into her wine glass. "No. And put that away; won't work. Nutball."

Tony laughed and returned to his stew.

Remy just snorted a bit. "Leave it. I'll ask Gran. Taste just like some she makes." He nudged Tony with his elbow, which made him smear butter across his cheek, as he was just getting ready to take a bite of garlic bread; he squawked indignantly and swiped at the butter. Remy leaned over with his tongue out as if he was about to lick Tony. Tony leaned away, fending his friend off with one hand.

Ducky eyed them, then decided to let it pass. He didn't approve of physical horse play at table; there was too much chance of making a real mess. He did say, "Easy there, gentlemen," which made Remy grin and Gibbs scowl.

Tim just finished his food and settled back to sip his wine. He deflected the burgeoning argument by asking, "Jet, you know how many exits that auditorium has?"

Gibbs gave Remy and Tony one last DI glare, then said, "No. I was hoping you could bring up a blueprint."

"Might do, but they're working on the place and might have made some significant changes that aren't in the prints." He took another piece of bread to nibble on. "I'd do it right now, but Ducky doesn't like computers and that at table."

Ducky nodded. "I don't approve; it does your digestion no good at all to be messing about with that sort of thing when you're supposed to be relaxing."

Gibbs allowed, "After dinner is soon enough."

They finished the stew and went on to Lasagna a la DiNozzo and Stuffed Peppers Gibbs. Gibbs' peppers were some of the best ever, according to Tim. Gibbs admitted that he hated green peppers; they gave him gas, so he used yellow and red bell peppers instead. He made one of each for everyone.

Abby nodded her understanding. "But they're part of the Holy Trinity."

Remy nodded. "They are. But bell peppers are bell peppers. Green 'uns just aren't ripe yet. Don't agree with a lot of people. That's why they don't like New Orleans food."

Tony shrugged, helped himself to his share of the peppers, and passed the dish on. "I just use what I like. I like red bell because of the color and flavor. If you want to be a traditionalist, pass the Pepto."

They all laughed and dug into the food with relish.

Compliments paid to Gibbs and his peppers, the next course was salad. Jimmy had protested that the salad was a side but Ducky had disagreed, saying that such a magnificent salad needed individual attention. He brought the salad to the table on a huge platter and set it in the middle. "Ok. Here you go. Dig in." Jimmy eyed the platter for a moment, "Um ... not actually sure how to serve that."

Ducky just helped himself by scooping a line across the platter with a big serving spoon; that way he got a little of everything. "Pass the dressing, please." He passed the platter on and accepted the bowl of homemade Green Goddess dressing that he'd made to go along with the salad. "I made the dressing. The only thing I didn't do was clean the avocado. I just ... don't like the feel." He chuckled softly.

Gibbs couldn't resist a bit of a dig. "So ... you can stick your hands in someone's guts, pull out their liver, kidneys ... whatever. But you don't like the feel of a peeled avocado? Ducky."

Tim shrugged. "No accounting for tastes, Jet. More bread?"

Gibbs took the slice of garlic bread and added it to his plate. "Thanks."

Once they were done with the salad, it was time for pie. Tim brought them out; he'd made three, expecting Cosmo and Dean to be there. "I made three, but I left one in the fridge for Cosmo and Dean later. Gibbs, you'll take it home with you, okay?"

"Sure thing. If we don't eat it first. They might be gone as long as a week." Gibbs took his piece and grinned easily. "Looks great."

Tim put a bowl down next to the slice of pie. "Vanilla ice cream with caramel topping and nuts."

Abby sighed. "I'm gonna have ta join you idiots on all that running. I'm gonna get fat, eating all this."

Tim chuckled at that; Abby had been saying similar things for months. "Abby, you'll never put on weight. You dance all night too much. But I could cut you a smaller piece?"

"Never. Gimme." Abby made grabby hands at Tim, who obediently handed over the pie and ice cream.

Ducky got up to get coffee. "I think the coffee should be okay. I started it just before we sat down."

Gibbs sighed, "I thought you'd never ask."

Tim disappeared into the library and returned with his laptop. "Sorry, Ducky, I know you don't like it, but we need to get this done. Tony's going to want to practice, right?" he glanced at Tony, who nodded, as his mouth was full of pie.

Ducky nodded at Tim. "Quite all right, dear boy. You've all be extremely patient with an old man's foibles. Now ... what are we doing?"

Gibbs started the briefing. "We're looking for any problems. Ways in and out that we can't control. Secret Service should be doing this, but you really want to trust a bunch of spooks with security? SecNav is our responsibility. SecDef is theirs. But ..."

Ducky smiled wryly. "Bet we have more experience between just us than their whole crew. So ... stage doors that someone has a habit of propping open. Side doors that no one pays attention to. That sort of thing."

"Exactly." Gibbs finished his pie and pushed the plate and bowl aside. Abby neatly scooped them out from under his elbow and continued around the table, picking up the rest of the dinner ware. "Tim?"

"Got it in a sec. It's a registered blueprint from the construction company's website. Complete, well marked, and up to date." Tim mumbled to himself for a moment then turned his laptop around. "I'd love to put it up on a big screen but this'll have to do."

Everyone eyed the display. looking for weak spots.

Tony announced, "I don't like that door right at the back of the stage. Where does it go?"

Tim fiddled for a moment then pointed. "It goes directly into the green room. and behind that room ... dressing rooms. Two large for chorus; male and female. Four for ... not sure what but prima donnas; probably put you in one of those, AJ."

Tony eyed Tim, then said in a teasing tone, "You implying that I'm a prima donna? Seriously?"

Tim blinked for a second, then shot back, "If the shoe, etc."

Gibbs got up to pour more coffee. "Who wants coffee?"

Everyone except Ducky wanted more, so Gibbs made the rounds with the pot, then went to make more.

They spent the next hour analyzing the entire building with an eye to problem spots, choke points, unsafe habits of the personnel, and anything else they could think of.

Gibbs finally glanced at his watch, then said, "Let's wrap this up. It's getting late, and we need a good run in the morning to burn off some steam. I don't want AJ having an attack of nerves on the run-through."

Tony shot him and indignant look. "As if."

"I seem to remember someone puking up his guts just a couple of days ago."

Tony snorted. "That's because I found out that the audience is going to be nearly ten times what I was mentally prepared for."

Abby thought for a moment then said, "With stage lighting what it is, I bet you can't even see them at all."

"Well, thanks for that bit of info." Tony made a face. "Let's finish up."

Gibbs gave a quick rundown of what they were concerned about, then stood up with his mug in his hand. "Good night," he said, then he put his mug on the counter over the dishwasher and let Ducky walk him to the door.

Everyone else followed suit, putting their mugs down, then going wherever they needed.

Remy squeezed Tony's shoulder, then joined Gibbs, who was his ride, although he managed to drive at least half the time...usually by wrestling the keys away. As he was nearly twice Gibbs' size, it really wasn't that hard. He admitted that he knew he won most of the time because Gibbs really didn't want to hurt him. Their laughing insults echoed around the cul-de-sac.

Abby went with them, and Remy saw her into her car before trotting over to drive Gibbs' Challenger away with a roar of exhaust. Abby's 1931 hot rod rumbled after.

This left Tony to put the mugs into the dishwasher while Jimmy washed the counters down. Ducky policed the dining area, and Tim went to put his computer away.

Ducky dried his hands as he said, "Well, gentlemen, I think that went very well."

Tim stretched. "You're right. My pie turned out good. Jimmy, your salad was great."

Ducky chuckled. "Indeed it was. Excellent. I shall be fat as anything in no time."

Tony laughed too. "No, you won't. Duck, you're too skinny as it is. Just like me." He slapped his flat stomach. "I've lost ten pounds."

Jimmy frowned at both of them. "You're both underweight, and I want to see you both put on a bit. Ducky, if you're worried about losing conditioning, we'll get a treadmill. Think about it."

Ducky just nodded. "Very well. Good night." And with that they all wandered off to bed.

.

The next morning saw them all up and running. Tony, Tim, and Jimmy ran together, and Gibbs and Remy did too. The pod got together in Rock Creek Park most days, but today was going to be busy, so they ran separately.

Gibbs pushed the door open, then sighed. "Man, this house is so quiet without Dean and Cos around. You know how long they'll be gone?"

Remy shrugged, pulled his shoes off, then said, "Not sure. Stuff like this usually lasts three days. But you know how black ops stuff goes. Could last another three hours or three weeks. They're not leaving the country, is all I know."

"Well that's something. Shower, then head for the Strathmore?"

Remy nodded. "Gotta wash the stink off. Not showin' up at some fancy digs smellin' like a locker room." He ambled off to shower.

Gibbs fiddled with the coffeemaker, then headed for a shower himself.

At Mallard Manor, things went more or less the same, except that Ducky made tea and waved them on their way from the door. The return was a bit different, as they all came in the back door into the family room instead of in the front door. They stripped down to shower robes that Ducky insisted they wear; otherwise they'd all troop upstairs naked, and he said it was too cold for that sort of foolishness. They thought differently, but didn't say anything. Ducky didn't ask them for much, just a bit of manners at table, and not to wander around the house full monty.

The new hot water heaters ―yes, there were three― kept up with the bathrooms easily. Tony and Remy had paid for them with help from Tim and Jimmy. Gibbs had installed them, with help from Remy and Cosmo. There was one for the kitchen and laundry room, and the bathrooms were hooked up two and two. Ducky said it was a bit silly to have one for his bathroom alone, so they'd divided the heaters between the floors.

Tony was rubbing his hair with a towel when Ducky said, "I'd like to accompany you, if you don't mind."

Tony jumped a foot. "Geez, Duck. Gonna put a bell around your neck." He took a deep breath. "Sure, you can come. But you'll just wind up sitting around."

"Yes, and listening to you practice in that glorious auditorium. Without coughing, whispering, talking, and doors slamming." This had always been one of Ducky's constant complaints: audiences who were there to see and be seen weren't much on politeness and insisted on talking, squirming, rustling, and in general making distracting noises.

"I'll play something special, just for you. Think about what you want to hear." He glanced at his watch. "We have plenty of time before we have to be there. What do you want to do?"

Jimmy shrugged. "No idea. I've got a couple of journals that Ducky's finished with that I really should read. But ... if you want to do something ..." he let that trail off.

Tony just replied, "If you have something you need to do, by all means do it. Shoo." He flapped his hand at Jimmy.

Jimmy just headed for his room and the waiting journals. He'd work on them until time to leave.

Ducky admitted to having a fascinating treatise on recombinant DNA he wanted to finish. He retreated into the library.

Tony just headed for the piano. He'd do a couple of hours of practice, which would bring him up to lunch. He'd spend the time from lunch til he left just resting; he also had some paperwork to read.

.

When the whole group arrived at the Strathmore, they were met by the program director. He introduced himself as Simon Burke. "Right this way. I'll show you to the dressing room, you'll be using. Are there any special requirements?"

Tony shrugged. "Bottled water. Some kind of juice. No one touches my uniform except the dresser. I'll check the tuning on the piano. If it's not up to standards, I have my own tuner. Jimmy will re-tune the piano if necessary."

"Very well. But I think you'll find that our two pianos are in perfect tune. We have them tuned by Steinway-approved and -trained tuners. They come directly from the Steinway dealership here in town." Mr Burke was very relieved that Tony was being reasonable. They'd had one singer who had actually thrown a fit because there wasn't a freezer in the dressing room so she could have her favorite ice cream on demand.

Jimmy tucked his kit under his arm and asked, "Who is your tuner?"

Mr. Burke smiled at him. "James Fowler is our main person; if he's not available, Gladys Peal comes in."

"They're both excellent people. I'll just give the pianos a quick check. Tony." Jimmy nodded to Tony and headed off for the stage; he knew someone would show him the pianos.

Mr. Burke led the way backstage and showed them a short hall. "Here are all the private dressing rooms. There are two general dressing rooms at the end for choirs, choruses, and such. I think you might be happiest with the largest private room. Just here." He opened the door just before the women's general dressing room. "It's large. I understand you have several more people?"

Tony chuckled. "This is Senior Special Agent Gibbs. Special Agent McGee. Dr. Mallard. Master Chief Petty Officer Remiel Devereaux, my bud. Dr. Palmer is my tuner. There'll also be two more SEALs, I hope. Chief Warrant Officer Dean Cale and Chief Petty Officer Cosmo Richter."

Mr. Burke nodded. "I see. Where are they now?"

Tony scowled blackly at the man and said shortly, "Classified." He turned to the room and began to wander around, poking into this and that. He opened the few cupboards, the wardrobe, and the lavatory door.

Gibbs watched all this with amusement, while Remy just followed Tony around with a bland expression. Tim settled at a small dining-room-style table and set up his laptop. No one was quite sure exactly what he was going to do with it, but they were all so used to seeing him with tablet or laptop to hand that they really didn't pay much attention.

Jimmy popped his head in the door. "Ah! There you are. The pianos are great. It won't make any difference which one you chose. The attack is the same on both of them. There's a cushioned, adjustable bench available, or the more traditional hard bench. I'd recommend the cushioned one; it's a bit taller."

Remy nodded to him. "Padded. He's in a funk right now." He smiled fondly at his friend and partner. "Let him snoop for now."

Gibbs noticed that Tony was in the process of opening every drawer in the lavatory. "Anything interesting?"

Tony looked up distractedly. "No. Just ... left-behind junk. But ..." he sighed and went to settle in a comfortable lounge chair. "I got blown up with a basketball. I swear, you wouldn't believe what can be booby-trapped."

Gibbs nodded. "I know, AJ, seriously. I do."

Mr. Burke wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but he offered, "If you like, you could send someone in to check the dressing room over before the concert. They could lock the door then our security could ... keep an eye on it until you arrive. We would like for you to arrive at least two hours before the concert if possible. We've had problems with fans blocking the roadways. I'm sure that won't be a problem for you ... not that you're not ... um ... well."

Tony took mercy on the man. "That would be nice. I know I'm an unknown; I don't care. This wouldn't be happening at all if it weren't for the Toys for Tots program. And that's one other thing I'd like. Some sort of way to collect donations. Something in the lobby?"

Mr. Burke nodded. "We have a very nice lock-box with a slot that we use. I'll have the table set up conveniently." He went away to finish his arrangements.

It wasn't long before the stage manager, who instructed them to call him George, showed up. He sorted things quickly, saying that it would be a good idea for everyone to learn their way around backstage so they'd know where to stand to be out of the way, yet still be able to see. Remy just smirked at Tony and stayed in the background.

George also pointed out lights and trap doors. "The stage lights will all be closed; we've got them open for cleaning right now. But the footlights and spots will be on. If you like, we'll turn them on now so you can see them. It might be a good idea anyway. You'll probably want some makeup." At Tony's startled expression he chuckled. "Not a lot, just enough to keep you from looking washed out. Those lights are murder. But ..." he eyed Tony's tan. "Might get away with just a powder for shine. Don't want you to look like you're sweating." He ambled away, saying over his shoulder, "I'll have the lights on in a sec, and the light tech will do his thing."

Tony grumbled, "Man, I didn't think this would turn out to be such a production. I feel like I'm getting ready for a covert op."

He eyed a hysterically laughing group of idiots with a jaundiced eye, then announced, "When you hyenas are done, we'll get on with this."

Gibbs wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands but had to lean on the set brace again as he couldn't seem to quit snickering. He managed, "Makeup? ... SEAL," then broke down again.

Tim and Ducky were both hanging onto Remy, who was doing his best to hold both of them up; but, since he was also laughing like a loon, it was hard going.

Jimmy wandered in from behind the sets somewhere. "What's so funny?"

Ducky managed, "Anthony ... makeup ... oh, my." before he went back to snickering.

Jimmy blinked for a moment then said, "Huh? Oh! Oh! Makeup. Yeah. You will need something." he eyed the laughing group with disgust. "Well, yuk it up, guys. Abby can do it. I'll call her." He wandered away, phone to his ear. It wasn't two minutes before he was back. "Abby's on her way with her case." He didn't bother to tell them that he'd snitched on them, and Abby was not happy.

Everyone knew that Abby participated in several charities: the Little Sisters of Charity bingo, Habitat for Humanity, several food banks, and a soup kitchen. They weren't that aware of her work with the Washington area's little theater group. She was their prime makeup artist, responsible for designing makeup for various characters, then teaching the actors how to apply it themselves.

Tony, unaware of what awaited him, settled down to do his run-through. He squinted into the now-lit footlights and frowned. "That's got to change. They're too bright." He jumped as someone stepped out of the shadows created by an angle in the unset flats.

"Sorry. Let me put a light meter on this. We'll get the levels set. Just take a sec. Too bright?" The lighting technician wandered around, looking at a meter and taking notes. Tony just sat on the bench and waited. "Ok. I'm the lighting designer. Ed." He grinned. "I'm not going to bore you with all the technical details of who's who. Just ... if you don't like something, I'm the go-to. So. I want you in a soft spot, with a bit of background lighting for ambiance. And you don't give a shit." Tony shook his head. "Ok, I'll just set it up the way I think it should be. If you don't like it, let me know. Put someone you trust out on the floor to look it over."

Tony interjected. "Dr. Mallard is out there somewhere." He waved a hand in the general direction of the area where Gibbs, Remy, Ducky, Jimmy, and Tim had seated themselves "They'll let us know if I look green or something. But do remember I'm going to be wearing Mess Dress." At the man's puzzled look, he elucidated, "Medals. Reflections."

"Well, shit. And it's disrespectful to put anything on them for glare." Ed sighed, remembering a faux pas when he was a junior tech. The hell the general had raised had been epic. "Soft spot." he made a note. "We can handle it. I'll fine-tune during dress rehearsal." He wandered off as the lighting changed. Tony didn't bother to wonder how he did it.

The next thing was a sound man. He wandered in while Tony was warming up. "Hey." Tony paused in running scales. "Just need a sec. The piano is already wired, so that's not a problem, if we wind up needing it. I just have to know if you're going to need a personal mike. Like if you're going to sing or anything."

Tony shook his head. "Nope. No singing. Just playing the piano."

"Ok. That's good. You gonna have an announcer to introduce you?" Tony frowned over that. "It's a good idea. Just someone who comes on stage, tells people who you are, what the charity is ... that sort of thing. I'd recommend not using our guy. He's got a great voice but .. he could screw up a two-car funeral. Introduced the Bolshoi as the Bolshevik. Swear to God. That caused a bit of a stir. Strathmore has an unfortunate contract with him. No one's sure how he got it, but, if you don't have a preference, he's your guy. I'd advise grabbing the nearest three-year-old instead. But ... your concert."

Tony added that advice to his own to-do list, then announced, "Unless someone else needs me, I'm going to begin." He waited a couple of seconds, then began to play his program.

While he played the lighting tech fiddled with the lights to get the best arrangement possible. This meant that he went through a series of filters and lighting arrangements, which were recorded for later analysis. The final lighting wouldn't be settled until the dress rehearsal, but this eliminated all but a few choices. Tony was totally unaware that the lighting tech thought he'd be wearing white.

Tony worked his way through his program with no errors. He was pleased with his run-through, and although he was a bit startled with some of the lighting changes, it hadn't put him off his performance.

He was interested in Ducky's remarks, but was held up for several minutes as the sound man wanted to ask him several very technical questions. He admitted that he had no idea, then told the man, "Look, you're the sound expert. You don't investigate crime, or do spec ops. I don't know shit about this; you do. Just do what you think is best." The tech gave him what could only be described as an awed look, then scurried away to set up the sound board.

The lighting tech overheard, so he just asked, "While I've got you. Any special effects you particularly want?"

Tony shook his head. "I'd rather you kept that sort of stuff to a minimum. I find it distracting. And no yellow, orange, or red, especially if it's supposed to look like an explosion."

"No, nothing like that. I don't use that for concerts, only plays. And, with your complexion and tan, just no. So ... maybe a bit of low-key lighting changes as you end one piece and begin another. I'd like a bit of a pause between pieces; so would the sound man. Other than that ... I'm done." He also went away to make notes and set things up.

Gibbs had sat with Ducky through most of the concert, and now gently guided the older man as he made his way down to the stage followed by Tim, Remy, and Jimmy. They stood in the pit, looking up at the stage for a few moments. Gibbs wasn't about to try to hoist Ducky onto the stage, but, since they were in the orchestra pit, there had to be a way up. It was pointed out to them by the sound man, who just shouted down from his perch in the rafters: there was a small door in the face of the stage, disguised as a decorative panel.

Gibbs opened the door and went through first. The hall behind the panel led into the orchestra green room, then on through into a short hall behind the stage. Ducky happily followed him, nattering on about his visit to the London Opera House in the early '80's. Gibbs listened with half an ear.

They found that Tony had retreated to his dressing room so that anyone who needed him could find him. They went back so that they could go over the performance with him.

"Ok, Ducky, how bad was it?" Tony braced himself for the critique.

"Very good, dear boy. I was enthralled. The lighting was a bit all over the place, but I feel that was because the lighting man was just trying everything and noting what didn't work. The sound was a bit ... strange. I'd advise no electronic augmentation whatsoever. Your actual performance was flawless." Ducky started slightly as Jimmy put down a cup of tea over his shoulder. "Oh, thank you, Jimmy."

"Welcome. As for me. I enjoyed it. Didn't hear any clankers, and the piano was in perfect tune. I'll still bring my kit with me when I come. Just in case. Sometimes moving a piano doesn't affect it at all. Other times, same piano, same move, and you've got a mess. I think the weather and humidity do wonders, or create disasters." Jimmy settled down with his cup of chocolate, satisfied that he'd done his best.

Tim was next and agreed with Ducky about enhancing the sound. "I agree with Jimmy. Leave all that electronic stuff to someone who needs it. Good piano, great performer. Leave well enough alone. I patched into the system and recorded everything so you can listen to it. But ... I wouldn't worry. You're good to go."

Gibbs shrugged. "Don't know a damn thing about any of that. I liked it. The lighting needs to be ... understated. You're going to be wearing formal kit ..." he sighed. "I am too. So we need to make sure that there isn't a bunch of glitter off something."

Tony sighed. "I got an email from SecNav himself. Full metal panic. I swear." Remy snickered. "Jerk."

Gibbs winced. "Full metal panic" was Tony's way of saying he'd been told to wear a full complement of awards. "Damn it, that means me too, right?"

"Yup. Double rank of mini-medals and a full three bars of ribbons. I'll clank no matter what." Then Tony eyed Gibbs with a steely look. "You still have that ol' DI bark. You get to be the host." Tony eyed Remy, who just eyed him back. "The last time Remy did something like that, he fell into Cajun, not .. no, just no."

"What?!" Gibbs would deny to his dying day that he squawked like a chicken.

"If you don't do it, they'll have their guy, and I've been told he's not ... compos. So, either you do it or ... I'll tell." Tony smirked at his friend.

"Asshole." Gibbs glowered, but knew he was going to do it.

"Yup. I have to suffer, so do you. I'll call and have your mess dress brought down with mine. Dressers for both of us. The rest of the guys can deal at home." Tony sighed. He was tired, but it was a good tired. "I'd love more coffee."

Jimmy nodded. "I'll get it. And we have to wait for Abby to get here. She wants to check the makeup on stage." He smirked and trotted off to see about more coffee and to try to catch Abby so he could tell her where they were.

Abby caught up to him in the lobby; the refreshment area was closed, so Jimmy had gone out to get coffee for everyone. Abby came with her own Caf-Pow.

"Jimmy! Where's Tony?" Abby carried her case in one hand and her Caf-Pow in the other.

"Right this way. Oh, and Gibbs was teasing Tony about makeup ..." Jimmy smirked, "only he's going to be host, so he needs to be done too."

Abby squealed in delight, "Oh, man. How great is this. I get to do ... yay!" She was so pleased with this that she nearly spilled her Caf-Pow. "Ooopsy. That wouldn't be good. You know this cherry stains like whoa? I swear FD&amp;C Red #6 is the very worst."

She burst into the dressing room and plunked her case down on the dressing table, turned on the lights and announced. "I'm ready. Tony ... you're first. Come here and sit."

Tony moaned like he was being murdered. "Awww, damn it, Abby. Do I really have ta?"

Remy helpfully pulled him out of his seat hissing, "Yes, you do."

Abby just pointed to the chair. "Sit! Now!" Tony dragged himself over and sat down in the chair. "Now look at yourself. Those lights are just like what you'll be under on stage."

Tony blinked. He looked pale, sweaty and a bit green. "Good God. What the hell?"

Remy announced, "Look like a Zombie from Planet Z extra. Man. Green really isn't your color."

Abby frowned. "Shut up, Remiel." She turned to Tony. "I'll come back for dress rehearsal and refine your look. I'll also do your final makeup that night. But ... you're going to need a bit of foundation and some powder. Not a lot. Just enough to keep you from looking sweaty and green. I'd recommend a really close shave before I apply anything, and I'll leave some towelettes for you to take it off before anyone sees you after. Now ... hold still while I match you." She started rummaging but said over her shoulder. "And Gibbs? If you think you're going to sneak out ... think again. Man up ... both of you."

Gibbs swore under his breath but sat back down with a bit of help from Remy, who more or less tackled him and shoved him into his chair.

Abby actually mixed the foundation from bases. She had Tim make notes as it was easier for her because she wouldn't have to wipe her hands every time she wanted to write something down. It didn't take her that long to get the color just right. "Ok, that looks great. Now for powder. I'm going to use a colorless powder as we don't need any special effects, just something for shine and to set the foundation." She dipped, tapped and fluttered. "There."

Tony eyed himself in the mirror. If he didn't know he was wearing something, he wouldn't have been able to tell. "Nice. But ..." he blinked at the change when Abby turned the lights off. "Holy hell!" He'd gone from looking like himself to looking very made up. "What a difference. You're right. I am going to want to wash all that off before anyone sees me in ... not natural but ... well ... you know. Everyday lighting."

Abby nodded. "I do. This is one of the pitfalls of being a stage actor or actress. They get so used to seeing themselves in stage makeup that they forget to tone it down for every day. I won't let you fall into that one." She poked Tony until he got out of the chair. "Gibbs ... you're next. And don't tell me you don't need anything. You do. Chair."

As they changed places, Tony took the opportunity to give Remy a quick, surreptitious punch. Remy grumbled that Tony was spoiling all his fun.

Gibbs grumbled as he grudgingly settled in the makeup chair and let Abby do his face. She had Tim take notes again and fixed Gibbs up just like she had Tony. He too was astonished at the difference between lighting and gave in with what good grace he could muster. Abby agreed that she was going to have to do his face as well. "I don't see why either one of you needs to learn. It's just a one-off. If you were doing a play, I'd insist but ... One time. Now. I really want both of you on stage so I can see you in that lighting. Let's go."

So they all trooped off to the stage, got the lighting tech to turn things on, then everyone went out into the auditorium to get a good look. Abby was of the opinion that both of them could do with just a touch of blush while Ducky, Tim and Jimmy were just flabbergasted at the idea of either man wearing such a thing. Remy had stayed in the background after getting that punch from Tony and the threat of going on the mats if he didn't belt up, as his comments while Abby did makeup had finally gotten to him. Now, all he could do was sit in a seat and giggle like an idiot. Abby gave him a stern, dirty look and hissed, "Oh, shut it. If you don't stop that, I'll ... I'll ... well, you won't like it."

Remy snickered a bit more, saying. "Oh, Miss Abby, seriously. This is just too good. Wait until Dean and Cos hear about it. Never hear the end, really."

Tony couldn't help but hear in the empty auditorium so he sighed, then barked "Remiel Andre Devereaux, cut it out."

Remy gave him a horrified, wide-eyed look. "Oh, my God. He middle-named me. No, dude, just no. You do not get to middle-name me. Seriously."

Abby cracked up. "Oh, man. Remy. You have been owned. Completely."

Remy shook his head in mock sadness. "I have been. I surely have. The shame."

They were interrupted by Mr Burke, who came by to ask them to go look at the table setup for their approval. This sidetracked any arguments, although Abby was sure that Tony hadn't forgotten Remy's disrespect. Tony was as easygoing as they came, but once his temper was up, he was hell on wheels, and any real disrespect from his men was a sure bet to bring on retaliation.

Gibbs eyed Remy for a moment. The man had lost his mind. Remy noticed Gibbs' look and gave an amused shrug. Gibbs gave up; DiNozzo management was best left up to Remy. He'd learned that his heavy-handed ways just made Tony close up now.

They gathered in the lobby, checked the donation box, approved it, then headed for home, Remy and Gibbs in Gibbs' old truck, Abby in her hot rod and the rest in Tony's huge Humvee.

Gibbs had something he needed to finish in the basement, and Remy was going to help him. Tony and his group were just going to rest for the remainder of the day. He had found that the run-through had left him tired, something he hadn't expected. He told Jimmy that it was probably nerves. He allowed that he'd rather be shot at; it was less stressful.

Tim shook his head. "AJ, you're crazy."

"Not denyin' that. Just ... know what to expect. Hate uncertainty. Can't plan for it." Tony maneuvered the Humvee easily. It was a bit funny to watch smaller cars switch lanes to give them room.

Jimmy listened with interest while Ducky planned stress-relieving activities.

It turned out that none of the activities were needed; they caught a case that kept everyone hopping for a week. Tony managed practice time only because Gibbs flatly told him to. Gibbs also informed their TDA that he could belt up or take a transfer to Outer Bumfuck Sticksville when he complained that Tony was slacking.

Tony heard about the TDA's complaints from someone and spent the rest of the case giving him an evil eye. Remy, Dean, and Cosmo pranked the man mercilessly. He retreated the day they arrested their perp and demanded to return to his old team. They accepted him back with amusement; he'd been so sure that he was David's permanent replacement.

This led up to the week before the concert, and things began to fall into place. Gibbs found out exactly what was expected of him and had a bit of a fit. "Damn it, DiNozzo, who the hell am I to be reading off your merits?"

Tony just shrugged and said, "Got the best voice. Remy ... he'd get shook and squeak. Dean and Cosmo don't have the tone. They're yellers; not good. Ducky just won't, and Tim and Jimmy ... they're both too light in the bottom registers. So it's you."

Gibbs caved under the rather pleading look in Tony's eyes, grumbling, "Well, okay, then. Gimme what you want read so I can memorize it. And you owe me fuckin' big time." He wandered off to his desk, mumbling about monkey suits and chokers. Tim cheerfully observed that they didn't call Marines leathernecks for nothing. This led to him cleaning, washing, and reorganizing the truck.


	8. Chapter 8

The last week before the concert turned out to be full of meetings with ― Tony wasn't sure who-all. Vance actually gave the whole team the week off, just to keep Tony's phone from driving everyone nuts.

Tony had gotten a call from both Spencer Sr. and Jr., another from Shirley Riley, and yet a third from some guy from Toys for Tots. He was figuratively pulling out his hair when Tim just plucked his phone from his hand, fiddled with it, then said, "If they're not in your phone book they'll roll over to me. If they are but you don't want to deal, tell 'em to call me. If that doesn't work, hand Gibbs your phone."

"DiNozzo." They'd all looked up to see an irritated Director waving his personal phone at him. "How the hell did some jackass get my phone number as your personal assistant?"

Tony had goggled at Vance like a total basket case then stammered, "No idea. Tell ... whoever to fuck off." He stomped off to yell at Shirley, which made her cry and call the Spencers. She was told that they were the only contacts that Tony should deal with and she wasn't to give out numbers, to anyone for any reason. She'd gone on to dress her secretary down and inform her that no numbers were to be given out, especially not the Director's.

This left everyone a bit at odds, and Tony was like a bear with a sore foot. Tim even compared him to Gibbs in a bad mood. All he did was practice, snarl at people, eat, and sleep. He got up, did his exercises with the pod, ate, practiced, ate, practiced, ate, exercised or swam, and slept... for five days.

The day of the dress rehearsal finally came, to the relief of everyone involved.

Gibbs had memorized his announcement by the simple expedient of reading it a couple of times. He felt a bit silly, but he also knew he was one of the few people Tony trusted just to do the job. He wouldn't add anything, make a big deal of it, or turn it into some sort of political statement.

Gibbs stood at center stage, recited what was required of him, then retreated behind the curtains until his next announcement. Tony walked out and settled at the piano. Neither man was wearing a uniform, as they hadn't come in time. Remy was ripping someone a new one over that. They'd all sent their mess kits for cleaning, and none of them were back yet.

The lighting man was having a tizzy over that, asking the air, "And how am I supposed to make sure that they're lighted properly without? What part of dress rehearsal escaped you people?" he'd walked away mumbling under his breath.

Tony'd just shrugged. "What'm I supposed to do about it? I can't clean a suit myself. I expect a damn dry cleaner to clean. Remy?"

Remy just said, "I sent Cos. We'll have our kit in time."

Gibbs nodded. "We will. If I have to, I'll call in a favor or two. Relax. Play. The sound guy is havin' a spaz."

Remy, Tim, and Jimmy went to sit in a box; Gibbs retreated to the area in the wings where he would wait until he was needed again. Cos was gone to the dry cleaners, dragging Dean with him. Abby wasn't on stage; she was backstage, messing with her box and grumbling.

Ducky had declined to attend, saying he wasn't up to another day of uncomfortable seats, bad tea, and stupidity. Jimmy explained that last by saying cryptically, "Foggarty."

Abby had banned him from her lab for insisting she produce evidence that supported his assumptions, rather than making assumptions from the evidence. He still insisted on harassing her from time to time. She sent him to Vance every time, but it still put her in a mood for the rest of the day. Never mind the snarky comment that you knew what assuming did. He was also in Ducky's black books for the same reasons.

So Abby was in a pout, and even worse, she'd found out that Tony had absolutely no hand with makeup of any kind. How that could be when he was an undercover expert she couldn't see; he'd explained that he never used makeup, but still. So she was preparing to put on makeup for Gibbs and Tony to make sure it looked good for the big night.

Tony finished his performance and met the lighting and sound men in the wings to hear their opinions. The lighting man just wanted Tony and Gibbs, in full kit, under his lights for a full check so he could set his levels. The sound man just shrugged. "All I really need is a sound check on ... Gibbs?" Gibbs nodded. "So I know if I need to mike him or not."

Gibbs wondered exactly where the hell that guy thought he was going to put a mike on a Marine uniform. "Ok, what do you want me to do?"

"Just stand on your mark and say your bit. I have sensors all over the place. I just need to see what kind of mike I need, so I can figure out which one, if any, I have to put on you." He eyed Gibbs for a moment, then said, "If you're wearing a short jacket and need a mike, we might be in trouble."

Tony snickered. "Say this: Marine, Gunny, retired. Military Police." Gibbs gave him a heated look. "Don't glower at me ... true is true."

"Don't look so damn ... smug about it." Gibbs snorted at Tony's continued laughter, then told the sound man. "Okay, you give me a holler when you want me to start."

"Great. Give me a sec to get into the booth. Oh, by the way ... don't need to mike that piano. You want it in the sweet spot, so we're good." He trotted away and called down a few moments later, "Okay ... whenever you're ready."

Gibbs found his mark and said his say. There was obviously no need for a mike of any kind. Gibbs didn't need to yell; he just projected, as he'd been taught in the Corps. There was no doubt that he'd be heard and understood even in the nosebleed seats. The sound man was ecstatic; he didn't have to figure out how to mike Gibbs.

Remy arrived with Dean and uniforms in tow. "Man, I swear. If I have another experience like that, I'm shootin' someone. The dry cleaner had our kit down as tux, not dress uniform; that's why they couldn't find them. So ... here they are. I was thinking that we should all leave them here and dress after we get here? Maybe?" He wasn't sure if that was a good idea or not.

Gibbs settled the problem by saying, "Since we're all wearing formal, we'll meet at Ducky's and dress there. Tony, Tim, Jimmy, and Ducky will take his Hummer. We'll take Remy's SUV. That way we won't be crowded and get wrinkled." He gave them all a hairy eyeball. "I know I don't have to say this ... but ... do not embarrass me, AJ, or the uniform."

Dean and Cos just shook their heads as Remy said, "No way. And you know it. AJ'd kill us."

Gibbs chuckled darkly. "No, he'd just get my sloppy seconds. Let's get out of here. I'm hungry."

Dean made sure that everyone took charge of their own uniforms, shoes and all. They carried the bags out to their vehicles and put them away. They'd barely gotten them tucked in when the lighting man came out to ask if he could at least see them.

Tony unzipped his suit bag. "Here. Don't know why you need to see them; it's standard Navy Best Dress, or Mess Dress. We usually just call it Mess Kit. Black short jacket, black pants, white shirt."

The lighting man frowned. "I thought it was white."

"No, that's semi-formal. Wherever a civilian would wear a tux, we wear this. And Gibbs' uniform won't look that much different. He won't be wearing dress blues; he'll be wearing full formal. Anything else?" Tony had realized long ago that most civilians had no idea what was proper uniform for what; he didn't let it bother him anymore.

The lighting guy made notes then went away to get one of the costume people to show him what the uniforms looked like. He didn't want to flub this lighting from ignorance.

Gibbs eyed Tony. "AJ?"

"Yeah." Tony eyed Gibbs for a moment then grinned, "Jet, I'm fine. Let's go find food."

Gibbs grinned back. "Okay, what are you in the mood for?"

Tony thought for a moment, then shrugged. "No idea. Something different."

"Chinese?" Gibbs liked Chinese, but he knew that Tony was a bit sensitive about his absolute inability to figure out chopsticks.

Tony started to say no, but was over-run by Jimmy, who announced, "Chinese? Yum! Yes, please." This led to everyone else wanting Chinese too. So Chinese it was.

Tim made a quick trip back into the center to see if there was anything close. There was, and they all snickered at the name Ping Pong Dim Sum. But they headed that way.

.

The restaurant was very nice, with a bright, clean interior and sturdy seats and tables. They all agreed that there was nothing worse than a table that wiggled every time you touched it. They were quickly shown to seats and offered menus and tea. Tony ordered oolong in perfect Mandarin, which impressed the waiter so much that he announced that the whole table's drinks were free. Everyone agreed that oolong tea was a great idea.

The teapot that came to the table was so large that it actually had a helper handle just behind the spout. Tony took charge of it and played mother to the table.

The waiter returned to take their order and blinked when Tony just said, "Some of every dim sum. Probably two orders of each."

He opened his mouth then shut it. He finally managed, "Sir, that's a lot of food. Are you sure?"

Tony glanced around the table then said, "There's seven of us. Eight if Abby shows up." He pointed around at each man present, announcing, "SEAL, SEAL, SEAL, Marine, NCIS, NCIS, and SEAL/NCIS. We're a hungry bunch. If it makes you feel better, start with one of every dim sum but be prepared to make more fast."

"Okay, we can do that. If you're ordering that much, desert is free." The waiter finished writing and went away to wonder and marvel with the rest of the kitchen. The head chef decided to take a look at his customers. One look and he was convinced that they were going to be short.

"Okay, you start," he pointed to his First Helper, who immediately started making duck with five-spice potstickers. He worked quickly and was soon making duck spring rolls. The Second Helper worked on vegetable potstickers and egg rolls, while the chef himself began the process of steaming, then frying, dumplings, potstickers, and egg rolls.

It didn't take them long to bring everything to the table on prettily decorated steamer trays. The dim sum came in fried and steamed potstickers: shrimp, chicken and vegetable; steamed buns with crab, lobster, vegetable, and pork fillings, and spring rolls with various fillings. The dipping sauces filled a dozen small dishes, all different.

Tony started the first tray by taking one of everything in it then passing it on. It was soon quite obvious that they were going to need more food. Everyone got one of every dim sum, but the pieces were the delicate one- or two-bite things that the regular customers liked. The waiter went back to order more.

This round also brought orange-honey spareribs, shrimp skewers, and some odd thing made of chicken breast marinated in some sort of salty sauce.

They ate, laughed, teased each other, and, in general, enjoyed their meal. The third round of dim sum was mostly chicken dumplings, potstickers, and spring rolls. The one platter of shrimp spring rolls nearly started a mini-riot.

Tony picked up the steamer tray and took what he thought was a fair share of the rolls.

Dean took exception to that. "Hey! Grabby much? There's only enough for you to have two."

Tony pointed to the other tray of rolls. "More there."

"Not. That's chicken. Those are shrimp." Dean pointed to the different trays.

Tony eyed the rolls. "Well, you're right, but I'm keepin' 'em anyway."

Gibbs glowered at Dean, which was the only thing that kept him from making a grab for Tony's plate. This was a sure invitation for some sort of disaster, as Tony was a food guarder, which Dean tended to forget.

Gibbs nodded to Remy, who'd put a couple of chicken rolls on Dean's plate while Cos signaled the waiter and requested more shrimp dumplings in ginger sauce and more crab rangoon. The waiter, who'd just given up on trying to keep up with them, just nodded, scribbled in his pad and headed for the kitchen.

Dean hogged the rest of the tray of shrimp rolls, much to Cosmo's disgust. Remy just settled for the steamed buns in Hoisin sauce. Gibbs fended off Tim's grab and nearly emptied the tray. Tim snarled, "Don't Bogart the rolls, Jet. Pig."

Gibbs just raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged. "Should a' grabbed faster."

Jimmy just contented himself with sneaking the last of the rolls out from under Gibbs' hand. He smirked when Gibbs realized and glowered at him then plastered an innocent look on his face and snitched the last of the ginger-honey sauce from Dean.

Dean took offense at that and gave Jimmy a thump on the shoulder. Jimmy yelped in a half-hearted way, then protested, "Oi! If Jet can get away with it, so can I."

"You don't have his stones." Cos nodded once, as if that statement settled things.

Jimmy eyed him for a moment. "No, I don't. I've got stones of my own, thankyouverymuch. Need proof?"

The last time this had happened, Jimmy had proven that he was nobody's pushover. He'd thumped Remy good, leaving the bigger man wheezing and flat on his back.

Cos shook his head. "No, no. I'll grant you stones. Big damn stones."

Jimmy nodded. "Thought so. Someone pass the ribs please." Jimmy got his ribs, and a twin glower from Tony and Gibbs settled the table down, much to the relief of the staff. This was a high-class restaurant, but they did have their fair share of drunks and other disturbances. They hated to call the janitor to throw out the trash—not to mention the mess that a sixth-dan Judo master could make.

Gibbs eyed the table, "Anyone want another round?" Heads shook around the table. "Dessert?" Vigorous nods greeted this. "Okay. I just want some of those sugar doughnuts."

The waiter wrote then suggested. "The servings are fairly small, so I'd suggest I just bring some of everything. There's Chinese doughnuts, flan, ice cream, mochi..." he eyed the group, "I don't advise that; it's a bit of an acquired taste."

They agreed with the waiter's suggestions. What they'd never know was that he sent out for the carrot cake and cinnamon ice cream.

A young lady brought the cake to the table, cut it, scooped ice cream and served it all. She handed the plates around with a flirtatious smile and finished with, "There you are! Enjoy!" and she scurried off to disappear out the back door, back to her bakery next door.

When the last of the food was gone, the last of the tea sipped, the last bit of gossip shared, Gibbs called for the bill. He didn't even blink at the total; he just did a bit of mental math, then announced, "Okay, each of you owes me sixty bucks. Ante up." No one did more than groan a bit as they handed over the money. They all knew that a place like this was going to cost, big-time. That was why it was always a special treat. They usually ate at Mom n' Pop restaurants, where large portions were usual and the decor was modern industrial.

They parted ways at the parking lot and headed home for a good night's sleep. Tomorrow was the big day.

.

No one was surprised to find Tony up at the crack of dawn. He'd decided to keep the day as normal as possible until the last minute. They were supposed to be at the center by 1700, as the concert was set to begin at 1900. Tony had finally put his foot down on the times when the printer called for the third time; he, Tony, had said print it for 7:00 PM and be done with it; everyone would just have to deal. This meant that the concert would be over at about 8:30 - 8:45; early enough that most people could have a late supper. He wasn't going to worry about traffic in and out; that wasn't his problem.

Instead of running on the streets, on Saturday the entire pod met in Rock Creek Park for a good long run on something other than pavement. Today, they were going to take a trail that was named Valley Trail, but most people called it the body dump. It was a horse trail that was up and down gullies and made a great place to get rid of a body. They'd worked more than one site along that route in the last year alone. But they liked it; it was a good run with some nice scenery.

They started on the Military Road side and intended to make a circle around the Horse Center and back to their vehicles; this made a run of around fifteen miles and would take them around two hours.

When they arrived at the parking off Military Road, Tony counted noses. "Ok. Everyone's here so ..." he opened the back of his Hummer and pulled out his pack. "I hope everyone brought their rucks, because, if you didn't, I have some for you." The bitching and moaning was epic, but everyone had brought their packs, just in case. If they didn't, Tony would issue them a 'buddy' that weighed a hundred pounds. He kept a couple and they were hard, dead weight; wet sand is really heavy.

Dean moaned, "AJ, man, it's supposed to be an easy day."

Jimmy snarked back, "The only easy day was yesterday; SEAL up. And powder your damn feet." He tossed a can of foot powder at Dean's head. Dean caught it and sat down to do as told; everyone knew that, if you didn't powder your feet, you'd blister like a bitch. He tied his shoes and handed the can off to Gibbs.

Gibbs powdered his feet and passed the can to Remy, who passed it to Cosmo, who passed it on again. Tony got it last and was pleased to see that Jimmy had gotten the extra large can. There had been a couple of times early on when he and Jimmy had done without because the can was empty before they got it. He kept an extra can in his Hummer, just in case. He handed it off to Jimmy, who just tossed it into his truck.

"I already powdered mine. I'm ready." Jimmy grinned, shouldered his pack, and went to the trail head. "Well? Let's get to gettin'!" He took off down the trail with the rest of the pod on his heels.

Tony brought up the rear, with Gibbs at his side. They'd both move up and down the line, chivvying the slackers and helping keep everyone on task. It made for half the running for Tony, half again for Gibbs, and made the rest of the pod bitch them out on a regular basis.

They were well into their run when they were joined by a group of young women, very young. Tony and Gibbs both sighed; none of the guys would be interested in girls. And these people were girls.

Gibbs eyed the one who was flirting with him. He side-eyed Tony. "AJ."

"Yeah?"

"Seventeen?"

Tony eyed the girl. "Nope. More like fourteen."

The girl snarled, "Fifteen, thank you so much," and put on a burst of speed.

Tony stretched his long legs to keep up with her. "You better watch out. They don't call this stretch of trail 'body dump road' for nothing." He smirked at her, which made her make an eeping sound and scurry back to her friends. Tony laughed heartily at that, winked at the eldest, who was obviously related to at least four of the five girls, and trotted ahead to yell at Dean. The girls huddled together, whispering for a few moments, then scurried back the way they'd come.

The whole group had a good laugh while they continued their run.

They sang cadences of increasing crudity as they ran, ignoring dirty looks from civilians with children and those with tender ears.

Jimmy had them stop at the halfway mark and handed out water and juice. Tony snickered, "Gremlin, I know why you pack all the drinks: your ruck is lighter when we're done drinking."

Jimmy just handed Tony his pack. "Not really. Full medical kit."

Tony hefted the pack and grumbled. "Well, shit, man. Next time, I'll make sure you're not loaded down like Adams' Donkey."

Jimmy just shrugged and cheerfully went to make sure all the trash was gathered up. Gibbs took the bag away from him, at a signal from Tony, and shoved it into his pack.

They rested for a bit, then went on their way, chanting cadence, sharing stories, and laughing. No one thought much of it, but other runners all followed them with their eyes.

They were quite a sight to see. Gibbs was actually the smallest of the group at six foot even, with Dean half an inch taller. The rest of the group were all 6'2", except Cosmo, who was the tallest at 6'4", but they were all heavily muscled, even Cosmo, who was more whipcord than beefy. The group, taken individually, were impressive; taken as a group, they were scary. No one in his right mind would mess with them. This day was no different. They made it to the end of their run without incident and spent the few minutes it took them to get ready to leave laughing at Tony's jokes. A few people eyed them suspiciously, but gave in when one of the pod smiled at them with easy friendliness; even Gibbs managed a bit of a carefree air.

Tony eyed the group. "Lunch? It's a bit early, but I'd like to eat soon."

Remy thought. They'd gotten to the park at about 0700. Their run had taken just under two hours, as they'd taken it easy, running what for them was an easy seven-minute mile. But they'd stopped at the halfway point for five minutes to drink and rest. So it was just 0915. "It's still a bit early for lunch; brunch, or even breakfast. Yeah, I could eat."

The rest of them agreed that a quick trip home for the three S's would put them at a good time for brunch at 1030, so they headed for home and a quick cleanup before meeting somewhere for early lunch/late breakfast. As Gibbs said, "Don't care what the fuck you call it, as long as it involves some sort of meat and potatoes."

Ducky said he'd love to go along, and could they stop at the cleaners to get his tux? Jimmy scolded Ducky, saying, "Ducky, if you'd told me you needed your tux cleaned, I'd have taken it and picked it up."

"I know. But, as I'm not helpless yet, I'd rather do it myself. I need to keep moving. Laws of physics." Ducky patted Jimmy on the shoulder to take the sting out of his words.

Jimmy looked blank for a moment then brightened in that way he had. "Laws of physics. Right, right. Ok. I'm for a shower; then we'll head out." He noticed that Tim and Tony had already disappeared up the stairs.

The cleanup didn't take that long. While everyone was getting dressed, Tony took the opportunity to check his uniform. He eyed the ribbon rack and realized that something wasn't right. He removed it from the jacket and eyed it; since it was attached with clutch-back pins, it was easy to remove. He decided to have Gibbs give it a look.

After dialing the number, Tony counted the rings; two rings later, "Gibbs."

"Jet. I just looked at my ribbon rack; the second one isn't right but I'm not sure how. Give it a look?" Tony put the fruit salad plate on his dresser.

"Sure. Leave it there and I'll drive over and give it a once-over." Gibbs was used to this, as nearly everyone he knew had him do this. Dressers were almost always right, but 'almost' was the operative word. They did make mistakes. "While I've got you on the phone, where do you want to go eat?"

Tony thought about that, dismissing the ribbon rack from his mind. "I'm not sure. Ducky's coming, if that makes any difference."

"Not really. He's good about that. I was thinking ... There's a Mom n' Pop place in that strip mall down the way. It's between our place and yours. How about we meet there?"

Tony agreed, "Sounds good to me. I'll check with the others and get back to you."

Tony's check had him calling Gibbs to say they'd be at the restaurant in thirty.

They met at the restaurant, which was nice, clean and very Italian. The waiter even spoke the language. Tony talked with him a bit, but, as Tony's Italian was Roman and the waiter's Sicilian, they didn't talk much. The group was just tired enough to be a bit subdued.

Gibbs asked Tony what was wrong with his decorations, and Tony showed him a picture he'd taken with his smart phone. Gibbs eyed it for a moment, then pointed to two ribbons. "Those are out of order. I'll fix it at the center; just stick it back on your jacket for now. And I'm checking everyone else's salad plate as well."

They ordered Spaghetti Bolognese family style; since it came with garlic bread, salad and a drink, they were all happy. They ate in near silence and headed off for home.

Then, suddenly, the day was gone. Tony looked up from the book he was reading when Ducky tapped on the door jamb. "Anthony, we'd better go."

"Ok, Ducky. I'm ready as I'll ever be." Tony zipped the suit bag shut and followed Ducky out the door.

Unlike Tony and Gibbs, Ducky, Tim, and Jimmy were already in their tuxedos. Ducky had three mini-medals pinned to the left breast of his Ralph Lauren tux, along with a small bar of campaign ribbons. Tim was wearing a three-year-old Armani tux, while Jimmy's was older and made by Suitopia. All three of them wore traditional bow ties, tied by Ducky.

At GHQ the group were all standing by while Gibbs checked their campaign ribbons and decorations. He found that in every case two ribbons were in the wrong order― the same two, and so he took the things apart, reordered the ribbons, and put it all together again. He also checked his own and found, to his displeasure, that it, too, was out of order. He grumbled sourly about "sweet young things" who thought they were "qualified to dress," then got his uniform back into its bag. He was ready, and the waiting was preying on his already thin patience.

Remy, Dean, and Cosmo looked very handsome in their formal uniforms and, as Cosmo sourly observed, rattled like spent casings. Gibbs just laughed at them and said, "Well, SEALs do tend to attract awards and decorations. Hazard of the job."

When it was time, they all piled into their vehicles and headed for the center.

It turned out that there was some construction near the center, which backed traffic up. It took them twice as long to get through as they'd expected. Tony's Hummer actually wound up right behind Remy's SUV. When they got there, they parked side by side and headed in at a trot.

Tony nodded to Gibbs at the stage door. "Jet."

"AJ. You ready?"

"Yeah, let's do this." Tony led the way to the dressing room. He and Gibbs went in, while the rest of the pod headed for their seats out front.

Chapter Nine

They were greeted by two dressers, Brad and Blake Spencer, and some guy who thought he was someone. Brad kept poking him.

"Okay, first, my aide will show your people to the reserved box, so don't worry about them. I understand that they're all SEALs?"

Tony nodded absently. "Yeah, my team. The ones not in uniform are my other team; they all sit together. Box, you say? That's good."

Gibbs took Tony's suit bag and gave it to the dressers, then stepped to the side to have a few words with them. Words like 'stupid', and 'get a clue', and 'read the regs'. It didn't take long for both of them to be in a sweat while Gibbs instructed them in what he expected of them, in detail.

Meanwhile, Tony was dealing with Mr. Somebody. "Excuse me? Who are you?"

"I'm Mr. Parkinson's personal assistant, and I was sent to tell you that he wants the ..."

At that, Mr. Blake Spencer snapped too. He'd thought that the man was someone in Tony's entourage, so had tolerated him. Now, not so much. "Excuse me. If you aren't in LtCmdr DiNozzo's personal entourage, you have no business back here ... ever ... for any reason. Go out to the front and stay there."

Tony grabbed one arm, barked, "Jet! A little help!" and waited the two seconds it took for Gibbs to grab the other. "Out! Now!" and with that, they frog marched the officious little twit out the door and slammed it in his face. "That was fuckin' weird."

Gibbs snorted, cracked his neck, and said, "Forget that. Get dressed. We're running late."

Tony glanced at his watch then snarled, "Fuckin' traffic. Where's the keyboard?"

That had been one of the things that Tony had called the stage manager about. He needed a keyboard in the dressing room so he could warm up.

One of the dressers pointed. "There. You want to dress first? Or warm up?"

Tony decided. "Warm up. That'll take about ten minutes. Then I'll dress. How long before I have to start?"

Blake looked at Brad, who had a countdown on his smart phone. "Twenty minutes or thereabouts. I'd rather have you dress, then warm up, but we can start up to ten minutes late without comment. I don't understand why you had so much trouble with traffic."

Tony grumbled, "Construction. They've got the damn side streets torn up."

Gibbs just pointed. "Either warm up or dress." He was grumpy, as he had just found out that the dressers had brought clip-on ties. He wasn't about to embarrass the Corps by wearing a clip-on. One of the dressers was headed out to their van to get ties that actually tied.

Tony had to grin at Gibbs. He was standing in the middle of the room already dressed in formal trousers, white dress shirt, and crimson cummerbund. As he spoke, he inserted the last cufflink. One of the reasons so many people had dressers was because the shirts were buttonless. The front was closed with studs inserted into buttonholes, and the cuffs were French cuffs. These cuffs were double and had two buttonholes on each side; they were folded back, the four buttonholes lined up, and a cufflink pushed through the whole mess to hold it together. Gibbs, with typical efficiency, started inserting the studs into Tony's shirt.

Tony settled at the keyboard to warm up until the ties came. He ran scales for the next ten minutes.

Finally Gibbs called him. "AJ, need to get you into this monkey suit. Come on."

Tony nodded and started stripping off his jeans and t-shirt. As he pulled the shirt over his head, he kicked off his shoes; one of the dressers picked them up and knelt to pull Tony's socks off for him. This had made Gibbs uncomfortable, but Tony seemed not to even notice. He dropped his shirt on the floor and shucked his pants down his thighs. The dresser pulled them the rest of the way down so Tony could step out of them.

One dresser held the trousers for Tony to step into, while the other held his shirt. It took him seconds to go from jeans and t-shirt to formal trousers and dress shirt. He sat down and held out a foot while he studded his shirt together. He switched feet and lifted his chin so the standing dresser could wrap the tie around his neck. A second later he was standing up, tie in place, shirt done up, socks and shoes on, and waiting for the next step.

This included buffing his shoes, fastening his cummerbund, straightening his tie, and getting him into his jacket.

Abby had done her magic with Gibbs while Tony was finishing dressing; she now prodded him into the chair, put a bib on him, and patted, fluttered, and dusted. "There. All done. Gimme a sec to get this off without smearing your collar." She rolled the paper up and tugged it out of his collar.

Someone stuck his head through the doorway and said, "Five minutes, Mr. DiNozzo, Mr. Gibbs," and retreated.

Gibbs tugged his cuffs into place, then demanded, "You sure you want me to announce you."

"Fuck it, Jet, damn it. I swear. Just get the fuck out there and say your damn piece." Tony grinned at Gibbs.

Gibbs grinned back and marched out the door. Abby scurried to get to her seat.

.

The plan was simple. Gibbs would welcome the audience, explain what the concert was for, ask for donations, then introduce Tony and his first set. There were handouts, but Tony had grumbled that the damn things were unreadable in a dark theater, so Gibbs was going to give a set list at the beginning of each set.

Gibbs stepped out into the spotlight. He'd been offered a mike, but refused it, saying, "Marines can hear me across an active PT field; I think they'll hear fine."

The sound of nearly half the audience standing up because Gibbs was displaying his Medal of Honor wasn't unexpected by Gibbs and Co. He gave the darkness a sharp salute, held it a moment then said, "As you were. Thank you." Gibbs waited until the rustling of people reseating themselves faded. "Welcome to the Strathmore Music Center for Performance Arts. I am Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Tonight's concert is being held to help fund the Marine Toys for Tots program. This program's stated mission is to see that every needy child in the area has one new toy for Christmas. The total cost of your ticket will go to the fund, but we still need money. There's a donation box in the lobby; please drop a donation into it during intermission.

"The performance tonight is by Lieutenant Commander Anthony Dominic DiNozzo Jr., US Navy SEAL. I'm not going to list his commendations, as we'd be here all night. There will be three sets, with a fifteen-minute intermission between each set.

"The first set will be: Frederic Chopin's Grande Valse Brilliante in E-flat Major, Op. 18, and Scherzo No. 2, Op. 31; Sergei Rachmaninoff's Prelude in G Minor, Op. 23; and lastly, Johannes Brahms' Rhapsody in B Minor, Op. 79, No. 1.

"Please welcome Lieutenant Commander DiNozzo." He stepped back, clapping his hands as Tony came out of the opposite wing and bowed beside the piano. Gibbs disappeared behind the curtain and retreated to his place to await the end of the set.

Tony settled on the seat, took a deep breath and began to play.

Silence fell as the brilliant notes filled the air.

Most of the audience would never know that the hands and fingers that produced such dancing notes were also capable of making a bomb, shooting someone from more than a mile away, or breaking a neck in total silence.

Twenty-five minutes later he let the last notes die away, then removed his hands from the keyboard; resting them in his lap, he waited a moment, then stood up, bowed, and exited, stage left.

Gibbs entered stage right and announced, "There will now be a fifteen-minute intermission. Drinks are available in the lobby." The lights came up slowly as Gibbs took his time getting offstage.

The audience shuffled and clattered their way out to the lobby to get expensive drinks and chatter.

SecNav and SecDef agreed that Tony was everything the services could possibly want in a performer. They also agreed that he needed some time off.

The pod gathered around Abby and Ducky to listen to their critique of Tony's work so far. Ducky was of the opinion that Tony could make a living on the concert circuit, and Abby agreed. She also added, "And he plays guitar as well."

At the ten-minute mark, chimes sounded; at thirteen minutes, another chime and the announcement, "Please return to your seats. Two minutes," was made.

One thing Tony had insisted on was promptness. He flatly said, "If they can't get their butts back in their seats after two announcements, they deserve to fumble around in the dark. They won't bother me. I can ignore Remy, Dean, Cos, Gibbs, and Jimmy snoring; I can ignore some half-drunk jackass stumbling over people's feet. Lights go down and Gibbs makes his announcement on the dot."

And he did. He strode out onto the stage and announced, "The second set will be: Franz Liszt's La Campanella and Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2; Frederic Chopin's Nocturne In E Flat Major, Op.9, No.2, and Polonaise in A-Flat Major. Then there will be another fifteen-minute intermission. Be aware that fifteen minutes means exactly that. Thank you." He bowed elegantly, then stepped into the wings again as Tony retook his place at the piano.

Again he took a few moments to center himself, then began to play. He displayed the precision demanded by Chopin and Liszt, as well as passion and heart. Everyone enjoyed the music, which was proven by the quiet; there were very few coughs or other noises as everyone sat still, enthralled by the music. It was actually a bit of a shock when the last note died away. Tony took his time standing up. He bowed again and left the stage.

Gibbs stepped out, announced, "Intermission will be exactly fifteen minutes. Remember that the donation box is in the lobby. Thank you."

The lights went up, and the audience headed for the facilities, drinks, and chatter provided by the lobby and refreshment stand.

This time the announcements saw the audience headed straight back to their seats; some grumbled a bit, but most saw this as a good thing. Abby actually told some smart-mouth, "It's a military thing. Be on time. Period. If you don't like it, you know where the door is ... use it." She then took Jimmy's arm and marched back to her seat.

Gibbs made the final announcement. "Thank you all. The final set is a bit lighter in tone.  
Perry Bradford's Crazy Blues, Scott Joplin's Maple Leaf Rag and The Entertainer; finally Bumble Boogie, a boogie based on Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov's Flight of the Bumblebee. I'll wish you all a good evening and thank you for your donations." He made an orderly retreat and headed straight for the dressing room to get the foundation off his face; it itched.

Tony made a small face at Gibbs as he walked into the wings. He sympathized completely with his desire to wash his face and put his feet up for a few. He, Tony, still had another set to play and he was very glad he'd made it a short one.

This set was a quick over-view of the rest of Tony's skills; it had been planned to wake up the audience and get them ready to leave. Tony completed the set with a flourish then stood up. He looked out over the audience then said, "That concludes tonight's performance. Thank you for coming. Please consider making a donation to Toys for Tots. Good night." He made a quick break for the wings before anyone could call for an encore. He had no intention of playing one and just wanted off the stage. The stage manager dropped the curtain and brought up the house lights as the applause followed Tony off the stage.

Tony wanted to rip the bow tie off but he knew better. He also wanted to get the makeup off his face; it was itching. He was met at the door of the dressing room by Gibbs with a makeup remover towelette in his hand.

"Thanks, man. This shit itches like a bitch. Don't know how women stand it."

Gibbs chuckled darkly. "Wear it every day, I guess you get used to it."

A head poked into the room. "You accepting guests?"

Tony thought for a moment then said, "Friends only. You know who they are?"

"Yeah, got pictures. Um ... Devereaux, Cale, Richter, Mallard, McGee, Palmer, Sciuto. There's also a couple of guys who claim to be the Secretary of Defense and the Navy."

Tony decided. "Tell them all that Gibbs and I will be in the lobby in five. I don't want a pissing match in here."

"Ok. You got it." The head withdrew.

Gibbs nodded. "Wise choice."

"Thought so. We better put wheels under this bitch." Tony finished wiping the makeup off his face and tossed the dirty cloth into the trash. He washed his hands, and they were ready.

They found the rest of the group hovering by the door into the lobby. Tony eased into the group, followed by Gibbs.

"Hey, Remy." Tony rested his hand on Remy's shoulder for a moment.

"AJ." Remy didn't even turn his head. He was keeping an eye on the SecNav, just in case.

It was a good thing he did, as the SecDef and SecNav both approached the group together.

Gibbs also saw the two men approaching and barked, "Ten-hut!" The four SEALs and Gibbs snapped to, while Jimmy, Tim, and Ducky just straightened their shoulders politely. Abby nodded her head.

SecDef nodded. "As you were, gentlemen. LtCmdr. DiNozzo. Excellent concert. Good work."

SecNav added, "Very proud of you. You did well."

Tony just nodded back. "Thank you. It was my pleasure. I hope both of you made an appropriate donation?" He didn't mind putting them both on the spot one bit.

SecNav laughed. "I did. Might be for a bunch of leathernecks but ... it's kids." He shrugged easily.

Gibbs chuckled. "Well ..."

He didn't get any farther, as they were interrupted by a strange voice saying, "Can't be. My kid isn't ..."

People nearby were astonished as Tony's face turned to stone. "Hello, Father."

"What the…? I always knew you'd turn out to be some sort of fag or other."

Tony nodded to his father. "Mr. Anthony Dominic DiNozzo Sr. Never could watch his mouth." He finished introductions all around.

SecNav eyed the Sr. DiNozzo with some disfavor. "You do realize that your son is a very highly decorated SEAL, a Lieutenant Commander. Or are you just that drunk?"

"I'm not drunk. I just ... he's ... well, pleased to meet you." He plastered a smile on his face and offered his hand. "The real Anthony DiNozzo. Call me Senior. I was wondering if you had a moment."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Seriously? Father? This is not the time."

Senior eyed him for a moment then announced, "All that jewelry, Junior, and you have the nerve to speak to me in that disrespectful way? If ..."

SecDef cut him off. "Mr. DiNozzo. This is neither the time nor the place to insult one of our nation's heroes. In front of everyone. I suggest you go home and sleep it off."

Remy announced. "Give it up, sir. The Real Anthony DiNozzo ain't got no manners." Soto voce he added, "Real Anthony DiNozzo? Seriously? What the hell's AJ? Chopped liver?"

Abby was so shocked that she just opened her mouth, then closed it again. Senior noticed and smiled. He was of the opinion that he was irresistible to any woman. "Well, hello there, pretty. Come with me, I'll get you a glass of wine and we can have a little visit." He tried to take Abby by the arm.

"Ick!" Abby shook his hand off. "Do not touch me, you ... you ... inbred, knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing, cretinous twat. You're an infected boil on the ass of humanity. The real Anthony DiNozzo? Seriously? Go away."

Senior started to say something, but Tony stepped between Senior and Abby. "You really should. You're only making a fool of yourself and annoying one of the three people in the world that can kill you, dispose of the body, and leave absolutely no forensic evidence behind."

Senior sneered at him. "I suppose I'm supposed to be worried now. You think you're really that good, Junior?"

Tony shook his head. "No, I'm more the shoot-you-from-a-different-zip-code sort. Abby's the forensic scientist. Why don't you go bother someone else?"

"You're the only one who was ever a bother. Don't know why you can't quit playing sailor and come into business with me. You'd do better." Senior never realized what sort of impression he was making, but he'd find that several pending business deals fell through without explanation.

Tony gave his father a cold look. "I enjoy serving my country both at home and abroad. I don't enjoy bean-counting. And tell your personal aide that the next time he tries to raid my accounts, I'm going to find him and hurt him ... bad. You don't need my money; you're rich enough on your own."

Senior snorted, "Like I need your pittance. I'll be sure to tell him to make certain to leave accounts with Jr. on them alone. Man's a menace, but he does keep my records straight." And with that he gave Tony a sour look and turned to grab the Secretary of Defense by the arm. "If you 'll just come this way, I have a ..." The secretary took his arm back with a jerk.

Senior suddenly found himself surrounded by Secret Service agents. SecNav and SecDef both had signaled their security teams to get Senior out of their faces. They happily gave him the bum's rush out the door, much to his very loud annoyance.

Tony sighed. "I'd apologize for him but, there's no excuse I could possibly give."

"You don't have to apologize for your father. I feel sorry for you having to grow up with that man." SecNav gave him a commiserating look.

"Him? I grew up in boarding schools, summer camps, and military academies. A friend of mine and I once figured it out between us: I've actually only spent about 72 hours in his presence. Haven't seen him for ... twenty years. Didn't want to see him now." Tony scowled after his father. His father and Tim's were neck and neck for worst father of the century, as far as he was concerned.

The silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Abby finally managed, "What a dick." She eyed the crowd. "Well, I need a drink." This set one of the servers to fluttering around them, taking orders from the bigwigs. He managed to separate the two secretaries from the rest of the group, winking at Gibbs on the sly.

This left them all pleased to see the back of the two men.

Gibbs sighed. "I think we need to sneak away before we get cornered by some other jackass."

Leon Vance had endured the concert with good grace; Jackie had loved every second, and he'd promised an introduction. Remy noticed them and just eased them into their group. They all trooped off to the dressing room to put their feet up and wait out the traffic.

Tony finally loosened his tie. "Man! Talk about a noose around your neck. I feel like I'm half strangled."

Gibbs also loosened his tie. "At least it's not one of those stand-up collars; those fuckers are murder."

Jackie snickered and everyone turned to look at her. "Now, guys, just relax. I've heard worse from Leon. Mr. DiNozzo. A pleasure."

Tony took her offered hand and said, "Just call me AJ. Mr. DiNozzo is that jackass the secret service just tossed out."

Jackie shook her head. "That man. Leon has told me a few things. I was reluctant to believe them but ... really! What a ... I believe Abby called him a dick?"

"He is. Never mind him. Would you like a glass of wine?" Tony dismissed his father with a shrug and offered wine with an easy smile. "And there's other things available to drink, besides liquor. I think we all would be best served to have a small drink while we wait for the traffic to clear."

They mostly settled for sparkling water and fruit juice. Ducky had a scotch, as he'd come with the Mallard Manor group. Gibbs was driving the GHQ bunch, so Remy had a bourbon and water. Leon had a small ginger ale.

They were all settled with their drinks when something hit Vance. "DiNozzo. I know you've had trouble with misappropriated funds from time to time because of the Jr./Sr. thing. Why the hell don't you change your name?"

Tony shrugged. "Actually never thought of it. I'll think about it."

They visited until everyone finished their single drink, then left for home.

On the way out, they ran into both Spencers. Brad was ecstatic. "We made $10,000 for the Toys for Tots, and that's not including the donations. We haven't counted them yet. We won't until the checks actually clear, but it looks really good. Great. If you ever decide to retire from ... law enforcement, give me a call," he started to babble, but got a poke from his father.

Blake sighed, "Excuse my overenthusiastic son. But, seriously, if you want, I can arrange something, someday. Thank you for an excellent concert. You played exceptionally well. Now. Go home, get some rest. Job well done. Good night."

And with that he turned around and went back into the center.

Tony sighed. "Well, glad to hear it. Boss, I'm beat; let's get out of here before someone else wants something."

.

Program: (all music is available on YouTube as of this date.)

Frederic Chopin Grande Valse Brilliante - 6min  
Frederic Chopin Scherzo No. 2 Op. 31 - 10min  
Sergei Rachmaninoff Prelude in G Minor Op. 23 - 4min  
Johannes Brahms Rhapsody in B Minor Op. 79 No. 1 - 9min

intermission - 15min

Franz Liszt La Campanella - 4min  
Franz Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 - 10min  
Frederic Chopin - Nocturne In E Flat Major, Op.9 No.2 - 4min  
Frederic Chopin - Polonase in A-Flat Major - 6min

Intermission - 15min

Perry Bradford Crazy Blues - 3min  
Scott Joplin Maple Leaf Rag - 3min  
Scott Joplin The Entertainer - 3min  
Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov/ Bumble Boogie - 3min

Thanks to Countisscullen, Yohjideranged, singer_s_lament, ladysybylgrey, and just-ruth for their help with the performance list.

CUU - Combat Utility Uniform. It's just the 'new' name for BDU's.

Abby's comment is paraphrased from this comment.  
'inbred, knuckle dragging, mouth breathing, cretinous twat and an infected boil on the ass of humanity.' - Vasaris Drake


End file.
